#and its only end of day two BUT i have so much bells to burn on projects

[prosebushpatch]

So I decided to restart my animal crossing new leaf for the 3ds file completely but I didn't know that Tom Nook would OFFER TO BUY the entire town and let you carry over the money to the new town and it's hysterical because the mayor basically peaces out, cashes in on 30 million bells, changes entire identity, and accidentally becomes the mayor in a new town. There's a fanfic there but I'm too lazy to write it.

[meangirls-imagines]

Rest and Relaxation

"who's that?"

"that is the queen bee regina george. do not look her in the eye. she can smell fear."

cady rolled her eyes at damian giggling. in the small amount of time that she had known him, he had been very dramatic. janis also rolled her eyes. "she can't smell fear. but he is right, don't look her in the eyes." cady watched as the blonde girl walked up to her table holding cheese fries, sitting next to the girl that damian said "has hair full of secrets".

there was a thud as the trio turned spotting a girl struggling to carry her backpack, books, and lunch. the girl looked over at the trio, noticing janis and damian and shyly waved. they all waved back and watched as she stumbled past them.

"who's that?" damian shook his head. "that's y/n, regina's girlfriend." cady looked at the two shocked. she didn't think regina was gay. "really? she's so...shy." janis nodded as they watched y/n finally make it to the plastics table. regina's face lit up at the sight of her girlfriend. y/n smiled back and sat next to the blonde, unloading everything on the table. regina pulled y/n into a kiss, making the girl blush.

"hi baby. how is your day going?" y/n blushed deeper at the petname. "its going fine gina. i just have a lot of work to do." y/n was a nerd in the best sense. she had the highest gpa of the whole school, she was a mathlete, and she was in all advanced classes. she also had a really bad habit of overworking herself. regina hated watching her girlfriend burn out so she did her best to step in before it got bad.

"how about you come to my house with us after school? we can do a spa day for you. get you to relax a little. i know how stressed you've been." y/n's heart melted at her girlfriend's worry. as much as she wanted to do that, she had a mathletes meeting after school followed by sat prep until late at night.

y/n shook her head. "i wish i could gina, but i have mathletes until 4 and then sat prep until 8 and then i still have to finish my essay." regina sighed, scooting closer and scratching y/n's back to get her to relax a little. their moment was ruined when y/n's brother shane walked up to them. "ladies, nice to see you guys today. y/n, chris was wondering if you could possibly look over his history paper and see if its good enough for at least a b minus."

regina was about to speak up when y/n beat her to it. "yeah, just give it to me before i go to mathletes and tell him i'll have it back to him by tomorrow morning." shane smiled and ruffled his sister's hair, placing a brief kiss on her head. "thanks sis. i'll let him know." y/n smiled as her brother walked away. regina looked at her girlfriend worriedly. y/n shook her head. "it's fine gina. i'll be okay."

the bell rang, dismissing lunch as y/n stuffed all of her things in her backpack, kissing regina and heading off to her next class. gretchen watched regina deflate as y/n walked away. she put a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. "she'll be fine regina." the blonde sighed. "i hope you're right."

y/n sighed as she opened her locker the next morning. she didn't get home until late last night and woke up earlier than usual to go with shane to football practice to give chris his essay and finish up any homework she missed the night before. she was exhausted and just wanted to go home. unfortunately for her, the world doesn't work like that and it was only going to get much worse.

for backstory, regina and y/n had been friends since 4th grade. regina had been very protective over the girl since they first met all those years ago. they met when regina stepped in and stopped a few boys from shoving y/n around. and since then, nothing had changed. regina was just as if not more protective over the girl. they had come out at the end of 8th grade which just boosted the protectiveness. ever since they came out as a couple, less people picked on y/n, though there were some who just didn't get the message.

enter ian. who had harbored a major crush on regina even after she came out. he was the stereotypical high school male. he was the captain of the basketball team, he was ripped, he was hot and every girl in north shore (except the plastics and y/n) wanted him. he felt like he was a better match for regina than y/n was and never failed to make his opinion shown every once in a while.

regina and the plastics hadn't made it to school yet and shane was in the locker room so this was his perfect opportunity. he and a couple of his friends walked up to y/n, who was reading over her ap chem homework and not paying attention. "hey there nerd. i see your guard dog isn't here." y/n rolled her eyes. "no ian, regina isn't here yet. can i help you with something?"

that was apparently the wrong thing to say as ian slapped the papers out of her hand and shoved her against a the locker next to her. at this point, people had started recording on their phones. y/n winced at the impact as the group of boys started laughing. "you don't get to have an attitude with me nerd. i think you forget where you fall on this food chain. allow me to remind you."

he brought his fist back to swing at y/n but the punch never came. the only thing y/n saw of her savior was pink nails before she was let go and ian was flying the other way. y/n looked up to see an angry regina flanked by an equally angry karen and gretchen. the two obviously weren't as close to y/n as regina was but they also had a protectiveness over her.

ian looked up scared as his friends fled the scene. karen and gretchen helped y/n pick her stuff up and dusted her off. ian shrunk in fear as regina towered over him. "i don't think you understand where you fall on this food chain, but allow me to remind YOU. you do not compare to y/n. she is so far above you that you don't even exist in her world. that being said, if i ever see you mess with her again, you will be finished."

he nodded and scrambled away. regina looked at the crowd that had formed. "anyone else have a problem with my girlfriend?" the crowd scattered as everyone went back to what they were doing. regina smirked victoriously before pulling y/n into an empty classroom, karen and gretchen standing guard outside.

regina looked over y/n for any injuries before y/n's grabbed her shaky hands and kissed both of them softly. "i'm okay, gina. just a little shaken up." regina let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding before pulling y/n into her arms. "i'm so sorry i wasn't there. i couldn't find my keys before we left so it put us behind-" y/n pressed her lips to regina's. the blonde instantly calmed as the two kissed, y/n being the first to pull away. "breathe babe. i'm okay. he's not going to mess with me again."

regina nodded and pulled y/n into another kiss, this one quicker than the last. "will you please come over after school today? i wanna take care of you. it's the weekend so you can stay the whole weekend while i help you relax. please." y/n nodded. "if it will make you feel better, yes." regina smiled and pecked y/n's lips. "good. i wasn't taking no for an answer. now, let me walk you to class?" y/n nodded and the two made their way out of the room.

regina stood against her jeep, waiting for y/n. karen and gretchen had hitched rides from shane so that way regina could take her girl straight home.the front doors to the school opened to reveal an exhausted looking y/n. regina's heart broke at the sight of the girl, she looked more exhausted than she did when the blonde saw her at lunch.

y/n shuffled to the jeep, regina grabbing her backpacks and throwing them in the backseat (carefully of course) before helping y/n into the passenger seat. regina walked around and got in, holding y/n's hand and kissing it. the girl sent her a sleepy smile and leaned her head against the window.

regina made it to her house in record time. she left the girl's bags in her car, making a mental note to ask her dad to grab them later. she helped y/n in the house and to her room, gently laying her on her huge bed. "stay right here baby. i'm gonna go run us a bath." y/n sleepily nodded, nuzzling into regina's pillow.

five minutes later, regina came out in a fluffy, pink robe, gently shaking y/n awake. "come on baby. let's get you in the bath." y/n stirred and nodded. the blonde helped her to her feet, gently pulling her into the bathroom. from there, she slowly took y/n's clothes off, head to toe. regina then got into the tub and guided y/n in, holding her to her chest.

the couple stayed in the bath for about half an hour before regina decided to get them out. luckily, y/n had been over to the blonde's house enough that she had her own little section in regina's massive closet. regina grabbed a hoodie and a pink pair of boxers for y/n and a hoodie for herself before getting them both dressed and into the bed.

y/n sunk into the soft mattress as regina gently maneuvered her to lay her head on her chest. y/n kissed regina's jaw and nuzzled into her neck. regina began scratching her nails down y/n's back. "take a nap and then when you wake up, i'll make you some dinner, and then maybe followed by dessert and a massage?"

y/n nodded before fully drifting off.

a few hours later, y/n woke up to the smell of her favorite pasta. she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stretched, getting out of bed and heading downstairs. she found regina cooking dinner with her "y/n❤️" playlist playing softly from her speaker. y/n smiled at how soft the queen bee looked before walking up and wrapping her arms around the blonde's waist.

regina smiled at the feel of her girlfriend snuggling into her back, turning the burner off and turning around. "hi baby. sleep good?" y/n nodded, pressing her lips to regina's. "what's for dinner?" regina smiled and pecked y/n's lips before explaining. "i made your favorite, cacio e pepe, some salad and garlic bread, and for dessert i made a lemon tiramisu. and after we are done eating, i am giving you a massage to get the stress of the week and especially today out of that sexy body of yours and we are going to cuddle up on my bed and watch some love is blind and you are going to sleep for more than five hours."

y/n smiled at her girlfriend, already feeling the stress of the week melt away. regina always took care of her when she needed it and she couldn't be more grateful to have her as her girlfriend. "god, i love you." regina blushed and kissed y/n's cheek. "i love you too. now, let's eat."

after they ate dinner and dessert, regina ordered y/n to take off her shirt and lay face down on the bed while she slipped in the bathroom. y/n did as told and winced a little before tossing the shirt off to the side and laying down. regina came out and lit a few candles before dropping the oil and bruise cream on the bed. she straddled y/n's lower back and gently ran her hands down the girl's back.

she leaned down and kissed y/n's shoulder gently. y/n sighed at the feel of the blonde's lips and whispered, "i love you gina." regina smiled, grabbing the bruise cream and started applying it to the newly forming bruises on y/n's back. "i love you too baby."

after a very, very, relaxing massage, y/n laid in between regina's legs as they watched "love is blind". regina had her fingers running through y/n's hair, scratching her scalp with her acrylics. y/n was drawing shapes on regina's stomach, the blonde girl shivering every once in a while. after a few episodes, regina asked y/n if she wanted anything to drink before realizing y/n was asleep. smiling, she carefully reached over to the nightstand to grab her phone, taking a picture of y/n.

she took to instagram to post the picture, smiling at the amount of cute comments their friends were leaving. she put her phone back and gently guided her and y/n into a more comfortable position. once comfy, she placed a gentle kiss on y/n's forehead, slowly drifting off.

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

[oftenderweapons]

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.1

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 7k

Rating: 18+ (This part is pretty innocent, but Part 2 will feature mature content)

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sexual thoughts. Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss.

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout to the incredible folks who helped me find courage to keep believing in this fic - and finally posting it. To Mars (@joheunsaram), To Bells (@youtifulhobi) to Yannie (@ressjeon), my power squad who believed in this fic (and in my writing skills) more than I did. Here's to me finally breaking my dry spell!!! And to some of my old and new supporters and cheerleaders @lelegzem0, @aanncchhuu, @blushingatyou and @percheee (other people are most definitely in this list but Tumblr is limiting my access to previous notes so I can't find you all) You folks are part of the reason I'm still rolling in the dust here on Tumblr

Part two out now!

Here's my masterlist, just in case you're new

Also: disclaimer! (very important, I should have put this first) I'm not Brazilian, and I have very little familiarity with Brazilian culture, but I really wanted to do a shoutout to this incredible country, its people, its art and its music. If you have any notes you would like to leave regarding Antonio's characters and Yoongi's attachment to Brazilian culture, you are the most welcome, both here in the comments and in my blog. I'd love to learn more 💜

Enjoy the fic!!!

May is a great thing. Flowers everywhere, the smell of sunscreen starting to spread in the air, orange dawns, hair getting frizzy with salty air and too much time in the water. Sand under your toes, loose linen garments, wearing a sports bra and a pair of shorts all the time, throwing an oversized sweater on when the night gets too cold, the smell of citrus and geranium to keep mosquitoes away. 

Early summer is great. Way better than midsummer and August. May and mid-September had always been your favourite times of the year: the beginning felt like sparks starting to burst, and the end felt like the natural conclusion of things, that languid nostalgia sweeping in gently, like the soft wind ready to carry in autumn days and blow the leaves away. 

The smell of rosemary and lavender and juniper accompanied you to the beach as you walked down one of the side alleys. 

“Good morn’ Earl!”

The old man turned to greet you as he kept watering the hibiscus bushes before the sun became too blinding, burning the poor flowers. “Morning Sunny!”

“Remember your heart pill!”

“Sure! Already took it!” Earl shouted back, his voice bubbly and bright. 

You waved at him as you kept walking, ready to meet your next friend. “Hello Rosa!”

“Hi Sunny!” 

The old lady already had her cocker spaniel on a leash, ready for her morning walk. “When’s Mindy coming around this year?”

“Mid-July. And she’s taking her children too!” The woman looked ecstatic about her daughter visiting. 

“That sounds amazing! I really have to rush, bye Rosa! And bye Lemon!”

“Lemon say bye!” Rosa told her dog, making her bark just in time before you started your jog. 

Being a lifeguard was great. It was the life you had always dreamed of. You had always worked out to fit in the lifeguard guidelines requirements, and a good ninety percent of your decisions had been oriented to making sure that you could be a lifeguard from the second week of May to the first week of October — that is the entirety of tourist season. Once autumn arrived, you would resume working at the retirement home: it was only your second year with that working arrangement, and you weren’t sure it would work at first, but your grandmother being the godmother of the director of the elderly institute guaranteed you would always find a spot working there; plus, they were also constantly in need of an extra set of hands, especially if those hands came with a degree in nursing. 

You’ve always known you wanted to work in elderly care just as much as you’ve always known you were made to be a lifeguard. Your parents were worried over the sort of sacrifices and strains that such an occupation would entail: all the caregiving, and the cleaning and the affection you spend on people you’re inevitably going to lose; yet it felt natural to you. Sure, some people can be antagonistic and diffident, in some cases you end up being more of a nanny than a nurse, but most of the time, it’s worth it. After two years in this field, the ups are definitely brighter than the darkest lows, and you’re under the strong impression that it will keep being so. 

Back to the glorious morning in front of you, you took off your flip-flops as you reached the best place in the world: the golden beach of Honeycomb Cove. Smiling, you fixed your cap on top of your head and walked to your tower, depositing your stuff in the cabin before going for your morning run. As you were opening the umbrella, taking in the blue infinity of the ocean before you, you spotted an unfamiliar figure below, a big fisher hat on its head, a long-sleeved white shirt covering its arms, a stick in one hand while the other was pressed to his lower back in a fist. 

“Hi, hello there!” you greeted, a wide smile for the small, old man walking on the shore before your tower. The bizarre figure lifted his head up, eyes squinted, his button nose curiously pointing about as he looked for the voice. 

“Over here! Good morning, sir!” You waved energetically at him, the man frowning — not that you could notice that, because of the distance and the hat. 

“Morning?” he greeted back in confusion before continuing his walk. 

Yoongi was extremely confused when he heard the voice. His night had been too long for him not to suppose he was hearing voices. Maybe his time had finally come and that was the call of some deity summoning him to whatever comes after the struggles of the living. 

What he didn’t expect was for the voice to call again, this time the source clearly identifiable. He squinted at the lifeguard tower and offered a small wave in greeting. 

She — that had to be a she — seemed to be set alight in sunlight, the early morning light making her glow in something brighter than gold. 

He had a precise image in his mind for a second, something his grandmother had told him when he was a child. Something like mythology, like Achilles’ halo of hair, or Helios who carries the chariot of the Sun. 

He shook his head and continued walking, turning around only once he was several feet ahead and her long legs had carried her in the opposite direction, her wide strides amazing Yoongi, who could just stare at her golden, looped locks bouncing as she played with the back-and-forth of the tide, running along it. 

For a second, Yoongi thought of The Girl from Ipanema, shortly before remembering all the controversies behind it, and how much his grandmother hated the song because of “the male gaze”. With chastised pupils, he let his gaze fall back to the fragments of seashells at his feet, the distant fall of her feet meeting the sound of the tide calling to his ears in a hypnotizing beat. 

All the way back to his home, Yoongi let it ring and echo through all the empty halls of his brain, until he could finally — although artificially — recreate it in the calm of his home, and let it resonate through its corridors.

Yoongi would define himself quite a reserved man. He had his home — an old Victorian-style house in the more quiet and deserted part of the bay, too inhospitable for tourists, still linked to the naval history of the cove. He had renovated the house after his grandmother had left it to him, replacing the old wooden axes with new, not rotten ones, repainting the walls and repolishing the floors, installing soundproof panels on the room he had decided to turn into his studio. 

It had only been a short while since he’d moved into the beach house; his college in San Francisco and his scholarship and research in New Orleans had sent him spiralling between opposites, diving deep into sounds he wasn’t entirely familiar with, and in a bout of homesickness and confusion, he’d decided to return to his true roots, to his true north. 

Here he could daydream of green hills and golden beaches of a faraway place that he could only imagine through the saudade of an old immigrant. He could feel the beat of that city that was nothing but an overgrown village, the roaring of cars on dirt roads, and that open-armed man that seemed to be every man, every woman, every human being in that open-armed city — that all-forgiving man that seemed to welcome strangers, with their weary feet and guilty souls. 

He knew the place that inhabited his wildest dreams, his most romanticised visions, no longer existed. It had been erased by decades of progress and politics and human greed. That place where all his bedtime stories took place was no longer, and maybe it had never been. Yet Yoongi longed to reach that all-forgiving stone man and feel, just feel how the rolling waves carried all the nostalgia and the sins and the tears of those lost souls that reached a new land hoping for fortune and maybe a brand new start. 

He too was something in between worlds. Son of a woman adopted by a foreigner and a man lost in time, somewhere. And there was nothing more foreign to him than the woman who had raised him, the same woman who had given him the house he was living in. He had always been drifting in something somewhat estranged. His mother had been a nobody, abandoned before an orphanage, the only known facts were her name — Moonbae — and that she had been abandoned as the last of sixth children, her family too poor to afford her. As a twist of fate, she had then been adopted by an American anthropologist — Yoongi’s grandma — who had always respected her will to stay away from her past. Still, loss persecuted her, her loving, if a little taciturn adoptive father passing due to a mysterious disease somewhere in Guatemala. 

It took several years for Beatrice and Moonbae to settle in the old colonial house in Honeycomb Cove; Trice had returned to her great-grandmother to assist the incredibly old lady to her last breath. Needless to say, she then inherited the house. The women lived sheltered, quiet lives until Moonbae got pregnant. A summer fling, that was all it was, the man a fleeting tourist who took a risk too many, fathering a son he would never take care of. 

His absence was filled by someone who looked the exact opposite of the little moonbeam of a child, laying pale and tranquil in his cradle, lulled by strange, exotic songs that his grandmother had perfected for him. 

Beatrice fell in love with a man who became everything to Yoongi — someone Moonbae never approved of, so much so that she decided to leave town when her son was maybe four years old. She never returned. Beatrice never looked for her either. 

Antonio was eighteen years younger than Beatrice, his skin a rich cinnamon shade, his accent so thick that it took a while for Yoongi to decipher the heavy Brazilian cadence in the man’s English. 

Yoongi preferred when Antonio spoke Brazilian Portuguese, anyways. By the time the boy was fourteen, he and his acquired grandfather easily conversed on the wooden patio, drinking lemonade, a guitar in the man’s arms. Antonio taught Yoongi everything, the boy so taciturn, so eager to listen, that the nationless musician let all his woes and nostalgia pour out. And maybe the man was no citizen, something in between an exile and a fugitive, but in that old house, he found a home, with Trice constantly refusing to marry him and loving him like a madwoman at the same time. 

Yoongi doubted love like that could exist anymore. A love so strong that when she had passed, Antonio had magically drifted away together with her a few months after, disregarding his significantly younger age. What the not-so-old man would never say was that he passed in tranquillity, knowing that he had taught his spiritual child all he had to offer. 

And just so, Yoongi won a scholarship, all because of the easy, wordless afternoons when Antonio taught him to play three instruments and speak that language that reminded Yoongi of his old cat, Sweeper, and the way he lazily rolled around in the sun. 

Now he was just a young man graduated from a prestigious music academy in San Francisco, two of his compositions had been featured as soundtrack in a couple movies, and he was already producing for a small recording studio specialised in chamber music. He didn’t make much money out of it, to be true, but sometimes he managed to have an extra income with royalties, and he was currently composing his first mixtape — for which a studio had already contacted him, and the fact that Antonio had introduced him to some of the most influential artists in the San Francisco scene had quite definitely jump-started his career. 

He was living a cool life, the kind of life he had always seen himself living. He worked at night and finished his day at seven am; then he would head out for a walk, when the sun was still gentle in summer and when it would be barely up in winter. And next, he would sleep. Wake up around five pm. Get some food ready and start all over again. He’d returned to Honeycomb Cove only six months prior, so he hadn’t yet entirely reconnected with his local social circle, plus most of his friends were still in college, which meant that it wasn’t that easy to arrange a get together. But to be true he was quite excited about Seokjin being back in town and spring break approaching. By summer come, they would all be a great team again and he would feel like he had all the time in the world. 

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell. That had to be his pizza. It was almost eleven and Gerry, the old Italian man who owned the pizza place at the end of the street, always knew that Tuesday night meant late night pizza for Yoongi. 

He grabbed the money — already perfectly calculated so he could pay for the pizza and leave a tip for the delivery boy, Pippo. But tonight it wasn't the delivery boy knocking at his door. As he opened it, he found a wondrous mass of blond curls right in front of his eyes. “Oh, hi!” 

“Hey!” The voice sounded chirpy, familiar. 

A sudden breeze pushed the stranger’s perfume past the doorway, the scent crashing over Yoongi like the surf. God she smells good, Yoongi thought, lips agape as he stared at the woman in his doorway. It was a mix of coconut and papaya, the scent overpowering the tasty smell of his pizza. 

You put on your friendliest, warmest, brightest smile, then said: “We met on the beach right? You must be Min Yoongi. I'm _____. Gerry said you always dine alone and told me you could use some company.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Yoongi replied before realising how rude he'd just been. 

“Well, that's a funny introduction, Not A Charity Case. Is that the name you chose to go by? Like Jenny From The Block?” You shook your head and looked away. “What told you it's not me who could use a friend. May I?” You asked, pointing at the door, asking if you could enter. “You can ask Gerry. He sent me. I've just arrived for the season and I could really use a friend. He told me you're a good person and you're always alone too.” 

Yoongi was almost outraged by your insolence. Were you always so blunt? He was also confused: what kind of setup was this?!

You passed him the pizza and he lifted the lid, checking that it was actually his and that you weren't an imposter, or a serial killer. 

'Take the golden retriever girl. She needs a smart friend. -G,’ read a note left inside the box.

“Yeah, I’m Yoongi,” he said, almost defeated. “Come on in, then.” If he found his house entirely stripped of anything worth money, he would sue Gerry. 

“Oh. Thank you.” You flashed him a grin. 

Yoongi's knees almost caved. What a smile. It was like… like staring at the sun. But in a good way. It was like a blue sky. Soothing. Serene. Cloudless, pacific. 

You placed your own pizza box next to his on the counter while at the same time you looked around. “Wow, your house is so pretty. Your family lives here?” 

Yoongi opened his pizza and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I don't have a family anymore.” 

You froze. “I'm sorry.” You were already failing at this. That's why your friends all had fake teeth and a medical record thicker than your cookbook. Not to mention the average age.

“It's okay. I got used to that. You should be the lifeguard, right? Wait, would you like some beer?” 

You shook your head. “I'd like some water please.” 

Of course you would, he realised. You had to be one of those health freaks. He could already anticipate how easily he could make you run from him with his suicidal diet. 

He placed a glass beside your pizza box before sitting down and getting ready to dig in. “I still owe you the money. From the pizza.” 

“I already paid for both. I thought that since I wasn't bringing you a housewarming present, I could at least buy you some food.” You took a slice and started eating up, humming and nodding at the taste. “I get why he works so much. This pizza is heaven.”

“Yeah. All the kids here grew up on sunshine and Gerry's pizza,” Yoongi mentioned casually. He liked that you talked with your mouth full. He did, too. Beatrice had never liked that. 

“Are you from the neighbourhood?” He asked before wolfing down another slice. 

“Kinda. I live a bit farther into the mainland. I used to come here on holiday when I was little. With my parents.” You took a sip of water as Yoongi learned one more thing about you. 

“I thought so. I don’t really remember you from growing up, and me and my friends know all of the locals.” Yoongi studied your face, trying to dissect any detail that could make you familiar. 

“I see. You’ve been raised here, I assume?”

“Yup.” The silence is heavy, but at least you can distract yourself with food. “So, lifeguard? That your dream job?” He said it sarcastically, almost evilly before he realised you were nodding eagerly and happily. 

“My great-grandpa was a sailor. I've always wanted to live by the sea.” You munched on the crunchy crust, Yoongi blinking rapidly. 

Making fun of you felt like shooting a dead body. There was no use — and no mercy — in doing that. “Shouldn't you be in college or something?” 

“I took nursing school. And I'm old enough to be out of college.” Yoongi’s tone had really made that sound like an insult, but you tried your best not to assume the worst.

Yoongi tried to get on his better behaviour. You were a new person, you wouldn’t understand his sardonic tone. “I'm sorry,” he said, contrite. 

“For what? Me being a certified nurse and a person in charge of other people's lives? I know I look stupid, no need to rub it in.” You arched an eyebrow, rather fed up with the weirdness of this exchange, of the man sitting before you. You stood up and closed the box of your pizza, still half uneaten. “Sorry I disturbed your night. Enjoy your meal—” 

“Wait, no! Don't go, please.” He didn't know what suddenly convinced him to make you stay. “I was a dick, I'm sorry, let's start over.” 

You hesitated for at least three seconds and then, despite your better judgement, you sat back. “I'm ____. But my friends call me Sunny. It's my middle name. Really. My parents thought it funny.”

It suited you so damn bad. Yoongi wanted to bask in your aura in a hammock with a slight breeze and a samba playing in the distance. “It's a really nice name. It really suits your appearance. And I mean that as a compliment.” 

You breathed out the tiniest laugh. 

“I'm Yoongi and that's the only name I have. We don't use middle names.” He relaxed once you opened your box once more. 

“Where is it from?” You asked, recognising the name being foreign. 

“My mom's name is Korean. She picked a Korean one for me too. Just to remind me we're not entirely American.” He was vaguely bitter about that. Maybe just indifferent, you told yourself. That must have been tough. 

“That's interesting,” you mused, drinking some water. “How old are you?” 

Your question was naive. Childlike. “I'm twenty-three. And you're…?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” You smiled and he was once more lost in how radiant you looked. 

Once you were finished eating, you rinsed your hands at the sink, helping him get rid of the boxes before shyly following him as he moved to the living room. 

“Wow.”

“It's a bit overwhelming, I know.” He looked around, analysing the room through a stranger's eyes. “My grandma was an anthropologist, my grandpa too, though I never met him. She travelled a lot and always brought back fancy things.” 

“What's this?” you asked, watching a strange fork of sorts. 

Yoongi sat down and grabbed a bizarre little stick, no bigger than a pen, with a large ball at the end. He hit the fork, a soothing, metallic sound coming out of it and the box at its base, amplifying the cold dong. “It's a diapason. It gives a specific note. This one sounds like la. Or A, whatever notation you prefer. We use it to tune instruments like guitars.” 

You nodded. “That's interesting. I like it.” 

Yoongi chuckled. “It's very soothing, right? It resonates at a frequency that has positive effects on humans. My grandma used to play it when I needed to calm down as a baby.” 

Thinking that the coarse man before you had been a baby felt baffling. “And it still relaxes you?” 

“It does. But I think it's more of a reflex. I think they trained me. Like Pavlov's dog… Wait, was that Pavlov?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a giggle. 

“Sometimes I think I was a strange experiment. That's what happens when you have two scientists in your home.” He shrugged with a funny grin on his face, his cheeks going puffy as he did so. 

“It's okay. You lived through that. You're not doing bad for a lab rat. You could be having bald spots by now,” you joked, almost expecting him to get confused or disgusted. Instead he laughed. 

His laugh was so soft. He actually looked soft, with his gums out, his cheeks puffed up, his nose curled up cutely. Yoongi was cute. Very much so. 

“So, what do you do for a living?” 

He blushed to his ears. “I'm a musician. And a producer.” 

“Wow. That sounds cool! How does that work?” Your voice was filled with wonder, making Yoongi understand that after all it wasn't like you were dumb. You were just unashamed of not knowing things. 

“I make songs. Spend too much time on the computer fixing songs for other people. And then spend a little bit of time with my instruments, going through riffs and melodies, finding little things that inspire me for longer songs or pieces.” Yoongi stopped himself from dumping all of his artistic worries over you. 

“You studied at UCLA?” you asked, knowing that was the best place for a person like him. 

“Actually, no. My grandfather got me into an academy in the city. I mean, my granny's boyfriend,” he corrected himself. Considering Antonio his grandpa had always come natural to him, but he'd never substituted himself for Trice's husband. 

“It's so cute that she found a boyfriend. You mentioned your grandpa passed so I guess she met the guy after?” You posed the question gently, wording it accurately. 

Yoongi nodded. “Yup. I was a toddler when they met.” 

You hummed. “With all respect to your grandpa, I like when old people find a partner — or at least, someone meaningful to them. It brings a lot of joy and newness in their lives. Partnered old folks have a way less lonely life. And it seems they live longer too! I read a paper for a course back in college.” 

Yoongi was pleased to receive confirmation of you being an old people's person. Hopefully you also hated kids so he could actually deem himself safe. “So you actually liked nursing school.”

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. “I’ve always liked the idea of working in a retirement home. Old people have so many stories and so little audience. I like staying with them, helping them write memories they can pass to their overly busy children and grandchildren. And they learn about technology, they play cards. They crochet! Isn't that amazing?!” you exclaimed with a radiant look on your face. 

Yoongi realised you were a genuinely generous person. You reaching out to him wasn't just Gerry forcing you to Yoongi's place, but hopefully you needing a friend. It really seemed you could use a pal your age. “And how does that pair up with your lifeguard position?” 

You shrugged. “I've always loved the beach. And splitting it with caregiving helps me from taking nursing too seriously. It helps me worry less about people… passing, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t thought about what it means taking care of someone day after day after day, and then suddenly they’re gone. He also thought about the different weights of a job: probably that was the same reason why it had taken him so long to work on his music while delivering piece after piece for commission. He had lost the passionate side of it.

“So, your granny's boyfriend got you into a music academy and then?” 

Yoongi smiled, then he started telling you everything about that. 

The two of you talked way deep in the night, the initial strangeness turning into easy chit-chat about school, life, family and work… It was almost one in the morning when you realised it was time for you to go. Once Yoongi noticed how long he’d been talking to you, he blushed and understood it was time to say goodnight, no matter how warm and welcome he felt at your side. 

He accompanied you to the door, then stood on the porch, waving at you before wondering whether he should accompany you home. “You’re staying here in town, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just five minutes away from here. I have my bike.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for your reply. 

You shook your head. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Yoongi realised the reason why he felt sad about you refusing was exclusively because he wouldn’t be able to spend more time with you. He was struggling to let go, after only a couple hours of chatting, and at least half of that being awkward acquainting with someone new. 

And to further increase his struggles, he could almost hear Antonio scolding him for letting go of someone that made him feel good. “Will I see you tomorrow morning at the beach?”

You were ready to leave when you heard Yoongi’s question. It sounded vaguely insecure, as if he was testing the waters. “Come meet me at seven. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. He should have asked for your number. Stupid social anxiety. 

“Goodnight Yoongi!” You waved from the gate before leaving.

He stood there, arms crossed, shrinking inside his striped polo shirt, its long sleeve doing very little in keeping him warm. So unexpectedly his night had changed. He thought about the percussion riff he’d jotted down that morning around nine, laying in bed, sleepless. For all he knew, you could have possibly changed his life. 

He would remember tonight forever. 

The following day, Yoongi left his house at six forty-five. You had given him a when, but not an exact where. He was nervous. And he was somehow hoping that seeing you in broad daylight would somehow lessen your magic. 

How wrong he was. 

He waited for you at the feet of your tower, leaning against it nonchalantly while he almost ran to get there in time. Watching you arrive in sunglasses and a white sundress was definitely something. You looked like the kind of girl that could have starred in Dirty Dancing. 

“Good morning, sir!” you greeted, waving. 

“Stop treating me like an old man,” he complained, however you heard some irony in his voice. 

“Not my fault you behave like one!” you bit back, amused and maybe a little cheeky. “Hello Yoongi,” you tried again, more calmly now that you were standing before him. “I’ll go get changed quickly so we can go on a walk.”

He nodded and looked at the horizon before him, his ears blushing at the thought that you were half naked just a few steps away. You looked so lean and fit and tall and he was… He was struggling not to let his mind run wild. After all you were just a prettily shaped woman. No more, and no less. 

All the months that had passed since he’d last slept with someone weren’t a valid reason for him to think of you half naked.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, basically throwing yourself down the stairs and taking a few small jumps on your spot — like a golden retriever too excited about going out. You started with a jog, only to watch Yoongi’s panicked look. 

You exploded with laughter. “See, I told you! You’re an old man!”

Yoongi hid his smile with a pout before catching up with a few quick steps. “Do you need to run or can you just walk?”

“I’ll walk in the water. Helps me burn more energy and work on my stamina,” you replied, entering the water to the point it reached your knees. “You can walk on the shore. Did you sleep well?”

He looked away.

“Oh, right. You work at night. So— Did you… produce?” You looked down, careful about not splashing him. 

“Oh, yeah. The conversation with you was very inspirational,” he conceded. He hadn’t worked half as much in the last four weeks. Listening to the little riffs and chords hidden in your voice was like experimenting with a new genre. It was as if he was building a new theme for you. Something that signified your presence, but at the same time conveyed the fits and starts of meeting someone new, and getting to know them, and discovering something new about oneself from all the analogies and differences they could see with the other person. As much as he was composing about you, about the little bits he’d learned about you, he was in some way also composing about himself. 

The process had been thrilling and once he’d finished the first, roughest draft, at dawn, the music felt so vibrant that it could properly and proudly accompany the rise of the sun. It was of course still only a draft, but the way you’d talked deep into the night, the way you’d circled around things until they’d come out right, had inspired him to give it all a try. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to work. And work, in the end, it did. He only wished he had sampled a piece of your conversation — that joke about him being a lab rat… the laughs that followed. It would have been great for a skit. 

“You know, I really wish I could listen to your music. I'm kind of curious about what such a quiet person considers noise worth listening to.” You looked at him. “After all, music is just very tidy noise right?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I would agree to that.” He looked at the seashells on the shore. “I'll make you a playlist. I'll include random stuff I like listening to.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” you replied enthusiastically. “We can make a playlist for our walks!” 

Yoongi’s ears perked up at that: “walks”, plural, which meant you would do this again, soon. He was pleased at the way you had so casually hinted at creating a routine. He had someone to share music recommendations with. Someone who would maybe recommend pieces to him in return. He realised he was excited about this. So many new sensations, and none of that as unpleasant as he’d thought. He could get used tho this.

Once the two of you said goodbye, he realised he couldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about making a playlist and sharing it with you. Walking with you in the gentle morning sun. Hearing you laugh. 

Yoongi understood: he was making a new friend. 

Having walks with Yoongi became extraordinary. You started associating him with the tender colours of the shyest sunshine, and the sweet cotton scent of his shirts in the gentle morning breeze. The way his soft locks danced in the ocean air, tangling together, the way his cheeks turned into little ice cream scoops when he smiled at you as you greeted him good morning. 

Likewise, Yoongi started adoring sunshine. You ended each of his nights, bringing him into the reign of soft morning light, introducing him to a brightness he'd always much preferred doing without. Truth was that his ears had become acquainted with your vintage summer bops, with the way your steps would automatically sync up with the beat of Pumped Up Kicks when the song started playing, and your little blonde baby curls would end up bouncing by the time the first chorus came around. Sometimes you looked like one of those strange horses trained to match the rhythm of music. Dressage, wasn't that? 

And then, you loved his calm acoustic ballads, the relaxing guitar riffs that accompanied the rise of the sun. 

Once your shared routine of morning walks was sufficiently cemented, you trained him, like a stray cat, to stick around some more after your walk, convincing him to join you for a morning snack. You always brought him iced coffee and a peach jam sandwich while you drank your aloe and matcha drink before indulging in an avocado toast. He liked your mornings as much as you did. You also probably liked each other too. 

Your perfect sunny streak was tainted only by a mildly cloudy morning, during which Yoongi showed up at your tower anyway, an extra sweater on top of his long sleeved shirt. He knew you'd probably be cold. 

The striped black number seemed to be big enough for you to fill it up comfortably. After all, you were half a head taller than him, and your arms were significantly longer. At least by three or four inches, he had to admit. 

When you showed up, you looked drowsy, your hair was half low and you were carrying a different bag from usual. “Morning old man,” you called, placing your bag at the feet of the stairs. 

“Morning, Sunny. Wait. Are those actually knitting devices in your bag? Wonder Woman ____ knits?” 

“Shut up. Linda taught me. It's just something to share with the ladies at The Orchard,” you justified yourself. “We'll see if you still joke about that once you get your soft, handmade cosy sweater this winter.” 

Yoongi blinked, suddenly realising his expression had been shifting to a pout. “Are you still going to be around this winter?” 

You invited him upstairs, avoiding the question for now. Could you wait from September to May to see him again? Could you go so long without him? 

As you picked up a half knitted torso from your bag, pressing it to his face, you realised you couldn't. You also realised you had made a naive mistake. You had thought you were domesticating a stray but in the meanwhile you had opened him your home, your heart. You had invested your time in him and that made him much more than a stray. You were giving him a forever home.

“Is this for me?” he asked innocently, gently, rubbing his face against the soft, airy fabric. 

“It’s alpaca wool,” you commented drily. You already knew you would give up on your long-term dream sweater only to see him all fluffed up in the pastel mesh of colours. You smiled as he pressed it closer to his face.

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling up against the small piece of knitwork. The moment he opened his eyes, you realised his nose was just a tiny bit red from the chilly breeze coming from the sea, carrying a storm in its wake. His cheeks were rosy and puffy, his eyes big and dark. And his eyelashes, so dainty and insanely… flirtatious? He looked like he was seducing you for the slowest of seconds. 

You looked away, cheeks aflame. “Let’s go. Before the rain comes.”

Yoongi startled at your tone, cloudy for the first time since that night when you’d known each other too little, and he’d been unforgivably too sarcastic. He followed you like a confused pet down the stairs, then grabbed his earpods and passed one to you. 

You were especially thankful for the music now that your thoughts were too scattered for you to form sentences and make some conversation. 

“It will rain in a bunch of minutes,” Yoongi commented. “There’s no use walking today.”

You ignored him. Would he leave if you agreed with his statement? Would he think walking was pointless, and therefore there was no reason for the two of you to spend any time together today? Too lost in trying to find a meaning to how sad you felt at the thought of being apart, you didn’t realise a raindrop had hit your nose. 

The storm was coming. 

An angry guitar riff came on, The Neighbourhood blaring from the earphone as Yoongi grabbed your hand. One drop followed the other, his hand around your wrist as he tugged at your arm, running fast, faster, to a speed that felt ridiculous considering how lazy he always was. 

‘I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs, and a smile…’

You ran, faster, short of breath, the music carrying you across the sand. You didn’t even realise you were trusting Yoongi completely, even as he led you past your tower, even as he kept running while the downpour broke loose, even as The Beatles came on, singing about jars by the door and lonely people, even as the morning got so dark, the sky like a purple shiner after a rowdy pub fight. 

You kept running, Yoongi panting as the two of you finally recognised the fence of his house, the tower barely visible behind the thick cover of rain and mist. “Come on!” he gasped out. 

You kept running until you were under his porch. “What the hell, Yoongi! Why didn’t we stop at the tower!?” you scolded him, barely alive, barely breathing — how had he worn you out like this? He was way less trained than you, and yet he’d managed to run by your side, keeping your pace, ending up winded, sure, but in way better a state than you’d thought he would be.

He shook his head, bent in two, his hands gripping his knees. “I was distracted! I wasn’t thinking!”

You shook your head, too busy pulling oxygen into your lungs to fight him back. After a few breathless minutes, you sat down on the first step of the staircase. “You knew it would rain. Why did you come?”

Yoongi felt called out all of a sudden. “I— I thought you were expecting me to come. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t text you. Or call you.” He sat down beside you, his hands pressed in between his knees. “I didn’t want you to worry or think I had forgotten.” He took in a large breath. Somehow the little effort of a confession required way more air than the makeshift marathon under the storm — it was definitely shorter than a marathon. Probably not even a tenth of it. He just knew that was the longest and the fastest he’d ever run, but you were running, and you were so majestic and he just wanted to be part of it. 

Yoongi paused, gathered his courage, then murmured, “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

You recognised the guitar strums immediately, the song changing once more. You looked at Yoongi, Hozier’s soft voice crooning at your ear. “What about you? Were you feeling lonely?”

He looked away, too shy, too old, too used-to-it to admit it. He had no right to feel lonely when you weren’t around. He had been alone for so long, but loneliness? It had been a stranger to him until he’d learnt your name. “I don’t—”

You pushed his hair off his face, your index finger casually following the handsome curve of his jawline. “Yoongi?”

He finally turned to look at you, once more innocent in the way he seemed to seduce you. He looked so pure and for the first time you felt so desperate to taint him. You needed him to look normal and mundane and you prayed for your crush to fade, for his sinless charms to be washed away so he would show his true colours, because no man should be allowed to be perfect the way he felt perfect to you. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart tied up with pining.

‘Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.’

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until it was too late, the lyrics making you open them only to notice Yoongi leaning towards you, his lips protruding in the most imploring pout you had ever seen. 

You were ruined. 

You tugged the earpod off, almost throwing it to the ground before hollering a ‘see you ‘round’ and running off in the cold rain. 

Yoongi, confused, afraid, sat on his porch as he watched you disappear. 

Part 2 will be out now!!

[cheegu3]

hi do you think maybe you can do a yandere bully fanfic with all of enhypen and could you base it off the bully scenes from the glory like the curling iron scene? i was thinking this was a really good idea but if you haven’t seen it you can look up clips on youtube! ty 💓

hi, thank you for requesting! this is one of my favorite kdramas so I love you for this - this is not one of my best works as it's not very '' yandere '' but I hope you like it regardless :c <3

genre; yandere

wc; 2.5k

pairing; ot7!bully - enha x f.m reader

tw / trigger warning: yandere themes, severe/graphic bullying, burn marks, torture, SA (forced kissing) + mentions of potential non-con sex

Enhypen - as bullies (the glory themed)

The gym hall looked eerie in its emptiness, only the sunset shining through the tall windows gave some light to the room. A lone basketball laid close to the old hoop by the wall, you could practically hear the squeaking from Heeseung's shoes as he stood by it - making shot after shot while the others tortured you.

Dread had started to fill up in your body. At the end of the day when the school-bells rang to signal it was time to go home, an arm was laid around your shoulders. It was one of the two more flirty ones of the group, Jake. He was accompanied by their scary leader, Jungwon who joined your other side shortly after.

Panic flared up, an instinct your body had after all the torture it had endured; so you immediately tried to wriggle out of their grasp, but to no avail. Jake's hand snaked down around your waist instead, and he pulled you harshly towards his body.

To onlookers you might look like a sweet couple, walking each other home at the end of a long school day. But the truth was far from that.

'' Meet us in the gym in fifteen. '' Jungwon said.

That was all they said before walking in front of you and disappearing somewhere down the halls. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding in, feeling light-headed as you found a quiet spot to calm yourself down.

Fifteen minutes was still some alone time before you had to meet them. You could either spend those preparing for the worst or escaping, but the latter would likely have very grave consequences.

There was a problem though - you very much wanted to escape. Not because of the likely torment you'd be put through if you obeyed and went there. But because you had promised your mom you would pick her up from the hospital.

It was a horrible dilemma. Either keep your promise and suffer the consequences of their wrath once they realise you won't show up - or, show up, suffer, and betray your mom.

After a few moments of thinking, you had made up your mind. The recurring teary-eyed face you kept imagining if you didn't show up at the hospital, was enough for you to gather your things and exit the quiet area.

You scanned both directions before bolting for the front door, and you ran all the way to the bike rack; throwing yourself on the bike and leaving without looking behind you.

Unknown to you, there stood Sunoo on the top of the stairs to the entrance. He had been asked to guard it in case you would try to escape, but clearly hadn't been quick enough as you went past him and were gone in the blink of an eye. The usual cheery one of the group, nicknamed sunshine didn't look very happy now. A pout formed on his lips as he thought of the scolding he'd get for letting you slip past him.

'' Sunoo? ''

He forced his eyes shut and took a deep breath before turning around to the owner of the voice.

'' Yes, Ni-ki? '' he answered the taller male, who had probably been sent to fetch him.

The two guys who had practically been attached to the hip during the early days of joining the school knew each other so well, that the younger - Ni-ki, immediately knew something was wrong by the look on Sunoo's face.

'' Did she escape? ''

Sunoo sighed again and his head hung low, but the other simply gave him a hug while patting his back slightly.

'' It's okay, I'll make sure they won't be too mad. ''

They smiled at each other before heading in together. What you hadn't anticipated was that while Jungwon was very mad at Sunoo, he was even madder at you - and as a result of this, the group conjoined a very sinister revenge plan to show you to never disobey them again.

*******

The next day you walked to school with a hoodie on, hair covering most of your face and keeping your head low. There was about a 0% chance that the group would neither terrorize you or see you, yet the low profile still provided some relief.

The first class was art, one that you shared with Ni-ki, Jungwon and Sunghoon. Purposefully you got in late, taking the last place available which was at the back.

Throughout the whole lesson you could feel eyes on you, but to your surprise none of them came up or talked to you. Not even your painting was ruined in revenge, nor a childish note passed your way.

The bell rang again, and you held your breath. The room quickly emptied out but you could almost feel their presence still being there. Silence filled up the space. Then you heard the scraping of chairs being pushed away, and heard the footsteps getting nearer.

Finally you put on a somewhat brave face and looked up. You met eyes with Jungwon, and immediately your brave face fell. He had never looked this angry before, his eyebrow was almost twitching, and his eyes were burning with fury.

You stood up in an attempt to make the height difference from you sitting while he stood less, because it seemed to only intimidate you more. He still looked down at you unfortunately.

'' Where did you go yesterday? '' he spat out bitterly.

Taking too long to answer, or avoiding to all together felt like a death sentence in that moment so you hurriedly blurted out, all slurred. '' I had to go. ''

You saw Sunghoon and Ni-ki chuckle at your distressed state being so bad, you could barely speak. But Jungwon didn't find it the slightest amusing, his lips formed a thin line.

'' I thought we told you to meet us in the gym. ''

What were you supposed to say? Whatever you did, it would end the same way anyway. You bit your lip and nodded shamefully. He scoffed, making you look up again. It was the first time he had shown any emotion except for anger in the conversation - only now, something else was behind the smirk and glint in his eye.

Revenge

'' You're coming with us now, and this time you can't run away. '' Sunghoon said, coming up to you to hold you around the waist, the same way Jake had done.

He started moving you out of the door while Jungwon and Ni-ki followed close behind. Your heart sunk with every step you took towards the familiar place.

You could hear the slight clinking of the gym-keys that Jungwon held and were once again, painfully reminded of how powerless you were in this situation - no one was going to save you this time either.

But then you finally reached the destination, despite you relentlessly praying that someone would intervene or for some miracle thing to happen. Ni-ki had been given the key as you neared the gym and he unlocked it swiftly, being too used to it by now.

Inside were the others - Heeseung, Sunoo, Jake and Jay, all smiling wide as soon as you came through the doors. You heard them close behind you and the familiar heart-dropping sound of the keys turning again.

Heeseung was the first of the group to get up. He casually strolled over to the basketball hoop like he always did, smirking as he knew all attention was on him.

You almost started to feel sick when you noticed in the corner of your eye while looking at Heeseung, that Jake was moving towards you. No amount of repetition could ever brace you for his hands roaming over your body, as one of them forced you in place so he could sloppily kiss you.

The boy in front of you rolled his eyes and groaned as he was interrupted before it went to far, like always. He gave you one last look before both him and Jay lead you to the plinth.

Jay's cold and harsh hands hooked under your thighs to lift you up and you complied, almost too tired already to fight back.

You closed your eyes and mentally prepared for the slaps you'd get as they would line up in front of you; almost like a game.

But...it never came.

You opened your eyes again, just as you heard snickers scattered across the gym. Sunoo was in front of you with Jungwon to his side, meanwhile Jake and Jay were still standing on either sides of you to hold you down.

Their fingers took an iron-grip around your wrists as you instinctively started trying to get out of their hold. Sunoo looked a bit sorry for you as he stepped up, his eyes were practically begging for mercy which was unusual. The boy usually looked embarrassingly excited to kiss you every time he was glad to be the one to do that to you, rather than hurt you. That one time he was forced to, he cried so he never had to do it after.

You gave him a questioning look before he smashed his lips against you, knocking the breath out of your lungs. As you were about to pull away to gasp for air, something boiling hot was pressed firmly against your forearm.

The sound of skin sizzling combined with your blood-curling scream echoed in the empty gym.

You continued to scream out in pain until your throat was hoarse while your whole body was squirming to get away from the fire-like sensation.

The object was removed but it continued to burn. It was a pain you'd never felt before; as if your skin was on fire. Sunoo pulled away and you had the chance to look down at the injury.

An ugly red mark had already been left after the thing, and you almost felt like crying.

Meeting his sad eyes, yours traveled down to his hand. Eyes widening upon discovering he was holding a curling iron.

'' We got it from one of the girls. '' Jay said before you felt him release his grip on you.

You immediately fought back even harder against the irritated Jake; but Jungwon quickly took over Jay's previous spot, his eyes boring into yours being enough for you to quiet down.

The item was handed over to Jay who stepped closer, it must've been his turn. Unlike Sunoo, he looked very excited; like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time and would relish the pain you'd feel. His lips curved up into a smirk as he saw you panic the closer the curling iron got to you.

'' No, please! '' you begged, despite your pride.

Tears were freely falling down your face as you struggled to breathe. They weren't holding you down entirely but it felt like they were pressing your chest down.

Your bullies just watched amusedly as you started hyperventilating, pleas spilling out of your mouth.

'' Please- please...don't do this. ''

He was now so close that your legs were on either side of his body.

'' Do you know why we're doing this? ''

You were quiet, whimpering as you racked your brain trying to come up with an explanation for the most excruciating thing they'd put you through so far.

Jay was getting impatient. The only thing that could be heard in the vast hall for seconds was the basketball bouncing, a sound you'd grown familiar with. It was like a ticking clock, the faster it bounced the more impatient the bullies got.

'' I-I didn't show up yesterday. '' you hurried to blurt out when noticing his hand carrying the curling-iron hovering closer to your arm.

He smiled again, although it didn't quite reach his eyes which sent alarm-bells ringing inside you. This was the biggest mistake of your life. You could really tell as you turned your head and stared into Jungwon's dark eyes, that they were not going to let you go until you had suffered, much more.

And then without warning he pressed the item onto your skin again. You screamed louder than before as he pushed it even deeper into your skin than Sunoo had.

Jungwon and Jake had to use all of their strength to hold you down, as your back arched and you had almost successfully gotten out of their grasp.

Finally, after seconds he removed it. But yet again it didn't prove to be much better. The two wounds burned and itched tremendously. You had the urge to scratch them until you'd see blood, however; all you could do was cry and cry, and cry. Their taunting laughs rang in your head which made you get louder.

The sobbing turned into wailing, mixed with screaming as you continued to fight against your bullies that were holding you down. Jake grimaced, a look of both fascination and annoyance painted on his face.

'' You're so fucking loud. '' he spat.

'' Heeseung, shut her up! '' you heard Ni-ki shout.

And the sound of the basketball bouncing stopped. So did your crying as you felt nauseous at the new sound of their footsteps nearing you.

This time, you knew what was coming. Sunghoon was following him behind, and you were sure they would take turns while mocking you and smirking.

'' No..No- stop! '' you were letting out panicked whimpers now as you thrashed around even more than before.

It annoyed Jake and Jungwon, who now had to push you down from the front as tried your hardest to fight them off.

'' Please...Jungwon '' you pleaded.

'' Jake? ''

'' Sunoo? ''

But it fell to deaf ears, and before you knew it - they had arrived much faster than you would've hoped for. Ni-ki picked up the ball in the background and the younger guys left to go play as Jay took back his old spot.

Ni-ki, Jungwon and Sunoo were scary, but the older ones were much more terrifying. They tortured you in such a personal and violating, psychological way.

And it was so bad, to the point that you started to hyperventilate as soon as you got eye-contact with one of them.

'' Missed me? '' Heeseung cockily asks as he gets closer to you, eying your lips like a hungry predator.

'' Stop! Get off of m- ''

He shut you up by pressing his lips against yours. When you tried to turn your head, he forcefully grabbed your chin and kissed you even harder.

Then he pulled back and you took a deep breath, shaking in fear. The soles of your shoes dug into the plinth as Jay and Jake dragged you up so you were laying on the stage.

Sunghoon crawled on top of you and gave you an evil smile as he went for a kiss much nastier than Heeseung's. Your fingers curled as your nails tried digging into thin-air.

Muffled laughs of Jake were heard in the background as he put his whole bodyweight on top of your arm so Sunghoon could kiss you without you moving one millimeter.

Jay followed suit; and then you were immobile, only your legs kicked in protest as Sunghoon's tongue explored the inside of your mouth.

You were struggling to breathe, and you weren't sure how long you were gonna last until you'd pass out.

The thought of them being alone with you like that - terrified you.

[tinyfishtits]

Saddle Horn(y)

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Micah shares his saddle with you and things heat up when the saddle horn gets you off.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,072 Tags: Smut, Fingering, Public Sex

Authors Note: I simply do not care about the logistics of two people riding a horse, let me live in the fantasy I have created 🤠

★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

Micah drags you away from a bar fight you didn’t start, but were intent on ending. He pulls you onto the back of Baylock and rides off back to camp. The saddle wasn’t fit for two people, and so you found yourself awkwardly half-propped atop Micah’s thighs, squeezed between him and the horn of the saddle which digs rhythmically into the bundle of nerves between your legs. You start to wriggle, attempting to fight back the building pleasure threatening to unwind you. 

A moan begins to rumble up your throat and you force it back down, your body erupting with heat as a climax builds, your stifled moans escaping as pitiful whimpers. You throw your head back against Micahs shoulder, panting as you come down from the apex of your saddle-horn-induced pleasure. 

Micah slows baylock, his voice concerned as he questions you. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did-“ He stops as a residual wave of pleasure causes your hips to jerk and coaxes a proper moan from your throat. “Oh doll…” his voice is a whisper against your ear, hot and crooning. Overcome with adrenaline from the bar fight and body now reeling with heat you turn your head to face him, searching for his hand and guiding it to the budding wetness between your thighs. 

“Micah” you breath against his lips and a guttural sound, almost a snarl, rips out from him as he takes your lips in his with so much force your hand shoots up to his face, grasping at him both to stop you from tumbling off the saddle and to keep him pressed against you. But he doesn’t let you fall, his arms already tightly wrapped around your waist, holding you close. His strong hands snaking under your clothes and kneading at the burning flesh underneath as his lips take yours sloppily and with so much pent up need you wonder briefly just how long he’s wanted this.

But all thoughts evaporate the second a warm hand trails under the hem of your pants and finds the furnace between your legs, burning for him. Your mouth fills with heat and lips vibrate as you both moaned into each other, sinking into the other as you lose yourselves in a flurry of want and need and primal desire… his thumb deftly circles your clit, pressing into it slow and hard when he brought you too close too quickly, the pressure of his warm digit dragging out the waves of pleasure that wanted so desperately to crash, so close to the edge but never allowed to cross it. 

You could feel his own desire stiffening in his pants at your back, throbbing with every whimper and moan he coaxed from you with only a single finger. You knew he was a dexterous son of a bitch, but this? You never thought you’d be jealous of a gun before, but here you were, wishing you were the one holstered on his hip all hours of the day… that It was you he spent hours tending to, rubbing with oil and swinging theatrically around his finger. 

Micah whispered your name as his lips fell to your neck. Thumb still teasing your clit, he slipped two fingers inside of you and your hips hungrily thrust into them, wanting every inch of him there was to take. You hadn’t been aware of your surroundings, so wrapped up in his touch, that you didn’t even hear the approaching wagon until it was just a few yards away. Micah, likely aware of the approaching witness and just wholly unbothered, continued his work between your legs.

No longer wasting time with teasing, he gave you the full force of his dexterity, the speed and strength of his fingers unrelenting. His other hand found its way to your breasts and started toying with your nipple, already hard and aching. He was giving you everything, the overstimulation bordering on torturous as your mind struggled to process all the fireworks firing in your nerves. His lips and teeth on your ear was the last straw, the sound of your name rasping out between his moans your undoing. 

The wagon was upon you now, the sound of horse hoofs and rattling wood ambling past you. You couldn’t have looked at whoever passed if you wanted to, as a devastatingly powerful wave of pleasure finally crashed, ripping through you like a tsunami, destructive and relentless as it swallowed you up and you gave into it, drowned yourself in it. You couldn’t help the scream that burst out of you as the peak hit and you came crashing back down, body trembling with aftershocks.

Micah chuckled into your neck, lazily kissing the skin there, warm hands still firmly grasping your flesh, though their ministrations had ceased. Micah’s low, gravely voice wrapped around you as you started to regain awareness. “Well well…” His mustache tickled at your neck as he spoke, “that ain’t how I saw this night ending.” He said, the tone of his voice a low, seductive purr. “Ending?” You repeated, breathless and sounding more desperate than you really meant to, but the thought of that being it … the end.   

His lips curved into a smile against your skin. “If you want to keep at it darlin I’ll be the last person to stop ya.” He said with a laugh, peppering more kisses to your neck as his hands fell away from your body, taking up the reins once more. “But we should get off the road… or the horse, at least.” Your eyes shot open at the reminder of where you were. “Oh god did that person- did they see?” You asked, the mortification finally settling in. You’d never been one for PDA, never even gone so far as to kiss a lover in public past a quick peck on the cheek.

Micah barked a laugh. “Didn’t have to, doll. Everyone within a mile heard you scream out my name.” He said smugly. You slapped his thigh, the easiest part of him to reach, and he chuckled once more. “I may have screamed yours…” You said, grinding your hips back into his lap and coaxing a sweet moan from him. “But you moaned mine” You teased, with more than just your words. The sound that escaped Micah’s lips then was practically a growl. “What will it be darlin’? Back to camp, or-” He started, but you interrupted. “Or. Definitely or.”

[lxvemaze]

彡in the end, it's you

pairing' cha eunwoo x reader

genre' hurt/comfort

wc' 3.5k

warnings' childhood best friends to lovers, miscommunication at its finest, angst angsty angsty, i cried, happy ending tho

song rec' always you by astro

a/n' no notes, i'm just sad

You couldn’t escape him. You saw him every single day without fail. His face was everywhere. You two had been friends all throughout your childhood, you grew up together, spent every day of summer break together, had each other's backs all throughout elementary and middle school. When the two of you were fourteen, he got scouted by an agent from an entertainment company who asked him to come audition to be a trainee. You were so excited for him, you knew he’d be a fantastic entertainer, so when he asked you what he should do, you told him to go for it.

And so he did.

And then he never spoke to you again.

You saw him on TV a few years later, he had debuted with a boy group as a vocalist. You almost couldn’t believe it when you saw him, he had debuted under a new name, so you thought it might’ve been another boy that just looked like him. But there was no one else in the world that looked like Lee Dongmin.

You were more than a little bitter about it, you two had been the best of friends throughout your entire lives until he got scouted, and then as soon as he got accepted as a trainee, he completely ghosted you. Not even his parents or brother could tell you why he didn’t ever text you, apparently he refused to tell them.

So now here you are, nearly a decade after he ditched you, a year after you graduated college, and working at your friends cafe because you decided to major in a degree that was nearly impossible to get a job in.

In the years since Dongmin’s debut, he’s only gotten more and more famous. He’s gotten huge acting roles, become an ambassador for some of the biggest brands on the planet, and the entire country was in love with him. It seemed like every single time you opened your phone or turned on your computer, you saw some headline about him like;“The Most Handsome Man In Korea; Cha Eunwoo”, “Cha Eunwoo: Face Genius”, “Cha Eunwoo Dating Rumors”, it was exhausting.

You lived close enough to the cafe to walk to work, and much to your chagrin, it seemed like your old friend was the face of every brand ever. You saw posters of him, billboards, screens playing his ads, coffee cups with his face on them. You couldn’t escape him. The memory of the boy you had grown up with followed you everywhere.

During exam season, your friend liked to keep the cafe open 24/7 on weekend nights, so students could have a place to get coffee and relax for a minute before getting back to studying. Tonight was one of those nights.

None of your coworkers liked the overnight shifts, but you didn’t mind them. They were slow and peaceful. About once an hour, a teenager with dark circles under their eyes would come in for a pick-me-up, and leave as soon as the drink was in their hand. So you always offered to take the overnight shifts by yourself.

It was 3 a.m., and no one had come in for almost two hours. After an hour of experimenting with the different syrup flavors and making what was quite possibly the most foul drink to have ever existed, you resorted to scrolling on your phone while sitting on the stool behind the register. You were tired, the blue light of your screen burning into your eyes. You had half a mind to just close the shop and go home, and pray that your friend wouldn’t murder you when she found out.

You didn’t even notice when the bell on the door rang as it opened until the person was standing right in front of the register.

“I am so sorry,” You apologized, quickly setting your phone beneath the counter and looking up at the man in front of you “What can I get-”

You stopped in your tracks as you observed the stranger in front of you. He was tall, and wearing a mask, glasses, and a beanie pulled down to his eyebrows, but there was something familiar about his eyes, and with the way he was looking down at you, you could tell he thought the same about you.

The two of you maintained eye contact for what anyone outside would have thought was an uncomfortable amount of time. You knew this man somehow, how somewhere. But where? Where could you have-?

It hit you like a semi-truck going 50 over the speed limit on the highway- It was him. The man that had haunted what felt like your every waking moment of the past decade.

It was Dongmin. Your Dongmin.

A shocked “Holy shit.” left your mouth.

You thought there was no way he would recognize you. He’d probably have worked with thousands of people over the past ten years, his world a constant loop of meetings, rehearsals, photoshoots, recordings, and performance. When he left, he cut you off completely, he probably wanted to forget his life before fame, he probably wanted to forget you.

At least that was what you thought until he pulled his mask from his mouth and breathed out your name.

“Uh…” You stuttered for a moment, your brain scrambling to think of something to say, should you confront him? Ask him why he never called or visited? Instead, what left your mouth was a lame, “You want coffee?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his face fall for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, just…Just an Iced Americano, I guess.”

The two of you were silent as you made his drink. Your mind was racing. He recognized you. He recognized you, and you kind of blew it? Why did you just ask him if he wanted a coffee? Are you stupid? Well, sure, maybe a little bit. You have to say something else to him. But what? What could you possibly-?

“So…How’ve you been?” His question stopped you before you could hand him his finished drink. How’ve you been? How. Have. You. Been?

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” The question left your mouth before you could stop it, stunning the both of you. But still, you continued. “We haven’t seen each other for like, an entire fucking decade, and you’re asking me how I’ve been? You completely stopped talking to me after you got accepted into your company. Do you know how many all-nighters I pulled after you left, hoping that you would send me a message? Do you know how many times I went over to your moms house to ask about how you’ve been, only to find out that you wouldn’t even tell your own family why you wouldn’t talk to me? I see your face every fucking day. Everywhere I go, you’re there. On every fucking poster, every billboard, every magazine. Hell, every time I open my goddamn phone, your name is in every damn article I see. Every day, I have to wonder why you ghosted me like that, why you just pretended I didn’t exist, and went on with your life. I’ve had to watch as you’ve become one of the most famous men in the entire country, while I slogged through school to get a degree that just led to me working in a fucking coffee shop. And you’re asking me how I’ve been. What the fuck?”

You took a breath, letting everything you just said sink in. You couldn’t have stopped yourself if you tried. All your frustration about him over the past decade had just come tumbling out of your mouth in rapid succession. You realized you were still gripping Dongmin’s coffee and set it down on the counter in front of you. Dongmin’s expression hadn’t changed much, other than the furrow that had formed between his brows.

The two of you stood in silence for what felt like an eternity. You were still fuming, and Dongmin was still practically expression-less.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he said before grabbing his Americano, tossing the cash for his drink onto the counter, and quickly exiting the cafe.

You were left shocked. All your questions unanswered. You stared at the wall for the next three hours until the crew for the morning shift came in. You were in a haze the whole walk home. You had finally seen the man that had been on your mind constantly for the past several years, told him what his absence in your life had done to you, and all he could say was “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or stare at the wall in silence. So you just went to sleep.

You slept for an almost inordinate amount of time- 15 hours. It was already almost time for you to go back to the cafe for another overnight shift. You got ready with your mind still in a furious fog, the thought of your best friend as a kid- really, your only friend as a kid going out and living a successful life made you what others would probably say was unreasonably mad. Even your own mom thought your grudge against him was a little much. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand what his actions had done to you.

It was a much busier night at the cafe, students and businessmen alike all coming in for a dose of caffeine to get themselves through the busy season. The cafe didn’t calm down until almost 4 a.m., and at long last, you were finally left by yourself in peace and quiet.

Maybe ten minutes after the last customer had left the store, you were drying out a froth pitcher when the bell above the door dinged again, alerting you to another customer.

You were still turned around facing the sink when you heard his voice.

“I swear I can explain.”

You whipped around so fast, you could’ve gotten whiplash. Once you saw him standing there looking so perfect and handsome in his long tailored black coat, expensive glasses, and designer shirt, you had half a mind to throw the small metal pitcher in your hand at his head. He raised his hands as if he could see the wheels turning in your brain. He looked around for a second before pulling out a chair at one of the small tables in the cafe and sitting down. You stared at him for a moment, wondering what the hell he was doing before he gestured at the seat in front of him, motioning for you to sit down.

You contemplated just leaving. Leaving the store unattended with Dongmin sitting alone at that little table and then never coming back again. Maybe you’d just walk out and keep walking and walking and walking until you dropped dead. But in the end, you decided that wasn’t a feasible option, so you set down your rag and pitcher, and slowly moved to sit down in front of him.

“So…Go ahead. You said you were gonna explain. So explain.”

He remained silent for a moment, his eyes scanning your face intensely, as if trying to find something that wasn’t there. He sighed and took off his glasses, placing them on the table. He rubbed the corners of his eyes, and folded his hands on top of the table, right next to where he sat his glasses before meeting your gaze.

“It’s not as simple as you think it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he silenced you with a raise of his hand. “Please…Just let me talk. I know you’re angry, I know you’re frustrated, I know you’ve had a really hard time these past few years. But please…For the love of God…Let me say my piece before you say anything. When I’m done, you can yell and scream and call me names and tell me how shitty your life has been. But let me finish first.”

You closed your mouth and slumped back in your chair, watching curiously as Dongmin twiddled his thumbs for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t really…Have a choice. When I was accepted into the company, they told me that I couldn’t do anything that might damage my reputation in the future. They asked me if I had any female friends, so of course, I told them about my best friend; you. I told them about how we spent every day together, how we took all the same classes, how our families knew each other, how close we were. And they told me that wouldn’t do. They told me that if I stayed friends with you, that you could hurt my career.”

You almost opened your mouth again to speak, and he could tell, as he stopped and put his hand up again.

“I know. Okay? I told them that you wouldn’t do anything, that you were my best friend and only wanted good things for me, and you would never say or do anything to hurt my career. But they didn’t know you. So they didn’t believe me. They took my phone and blocked your contact, and told me to forget about you. To never mention you again to anyone. And if anyone tried to bring you up, to shut it down immediately and change the topic. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to abandon you. You were the most important person in my life. It was so hard to imagine you at home by yourself, wondering why I was ignoring you. I cried every night at the thought that I would never see you again. I hoped and prayed that we would see each other again, that you would be waiting for me, because I-”

Dongmin was cut off by the bell above the door dinging. You quickly stood up and saw a teenager standing in the door, obviously startled by your quick movement. “We’re closed.” You lied, ushering the teen out the door before closing the blinds and turning off the “Open” sign in the window. You turned around to see Dongmin still seated in his chair, facing the one you were sat in just a moment ago, fiddling with a string on his ripped jeans that probably cost more than your rent.

You sat across from him again, but this time he was determinedly avoiding making eye contact with you.

“Are you finished?”

He nodded his head slowly, his gaze returning to yours. “Do you…Wanna say anything? Now that you know?”

Your mind was a mess. You were still mad- you didn’t really know why, but you were. You finally had a reason, a pretty good reason, for why he did what he did. But you were still…Really fucking mad.

“Why…Didn’t you contact me? Like, after you debuted, after you started acting, after all that…Why did you never reach out? Hell, you could’ve had your mom or your brother deliver a message to me or something. If I was really important, if you really cared about me to the point where you were crying over me every night, why haven’t I heard from you until now?”

His head hung low and a long quiet sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his eyes again. 

“I really don’t know. I think I was scared. Scared to see you, or scared that you would be mad at me, scared that you wouldn’t want to hear me out.” He looked back up at you, this time his eyes welled with tears. “I missed you. So much. More than I missed anyone else. It hurt so much, and I really wasn’t okay. So after a while, I did try to forget you. But it didn’t work.”

Your eyes were welling with tears of your own, and you weren’t even sure why. You choked them back and stared at the table for a second, gathering your thoughts before looking back up to him. “Didn’t you have…I don’t know, other friends or maybe like… I don’t know, girlfriends or something? I mean, your life is so…Insane. Why couldn’t you forget me? When you really think about it, I was kind of only a small part of your life.”

He let out a teary chuckle and your heart ached as you saw his real smile for the first time in years. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and attempted to compose himself.

“Of course I have friends, come on. But really, I don’t…I never…Really had any girlfriends.” His head ducked again in what you could only assume was embarrassment. “And you…You were never a small part of my life. You were everything to me. The thought of being able to see you again after I debuted was basically the only thing that kept me going as a trainee. I could never forget about you. I tried, but I just…Couldn’t. You were my reason for going on. My reason for…Everything.”

You quickly looked away from him, your cheeks reddening for an indecipherable reason. You took a second to regain your composure, eyes wandering around the cafe before landing on the table. “So…Why didn’t you have any girlfriends?”

He chuckled again, and your heart once again tightened at the sight. His teeth were a little different, you noticed. But his smile still met his eyes the same way you remember it doing all those years ago. He scratched his chin and his eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but you. He stared at the ceiling for a second, his smile slowly lessening before he looked back down at the table between you.

“Every time I tried to…Go out, or even just…Spend time with a girl…” He brought his hands to his face, groaning into them before finally looking back up at you. “I could only really think about you.”

His words took you off guard, and it took you a minute to process what he was saying. Your anger at him had long since worn off, and instead, you were left with a feeling of guilt. He had spent so many years working completely non-stop with people- management and fans alike- watching his every move. And any time he tried to stop and enjoy life like a normal human being, he couldn’t. Because he was thinking of you.

“...Why?”

He smiled gently at you, like he was waiting for you to realize the answer yourself before he said it, “Because. It was always you. Since the beginning, it was you. You were all I could think of before I went to sleep, all I could think of anytime I tried to enjoy myself. I wasn’t complete without you. From the beginning, and in the end, it’s you. And I think that’s the real reason I tried to forget you.”

The sunrise started to creep through the blinds as your mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what Dongmin was saying. It’s you. What? You stared at him blankly, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence. After all this time, the reason he had never called, never messaged, never tried to find you, the reason that he had spent the past decade of his life trying to forget about you was because he…You couldn’t even bring yourself to think of that dangerous word.

The smile had long since faded from Dongmin’s face as he carefully watched your reaction. He pushed back his seat, and adjusted his jacket. “I should probably go. Your coworkers are going to be here soon.”

He stood from his seat, your eyes trained on him as he slowly made his way to the door. Suddenly, something in your mind clicked, and you rushed forward to grab his arm just as his other hand reached for the door handle. He looked down at you, his brow furrowed as you looked up at him. Now that you had him, you weren’t really sure what to say, so instead of thinking, you just let the words flow out.

“I think I know the reason I never got over you leaving. I think I loved you- love you. I love you so much that you leaving and blocking me without warning hurt so bad, and then I kept seeing your face everywhere, and in every picture you just looked so happy, the sadness that I felt just turned into hate. I hated you for being happy without me, I hated you for being successful without me, I hated you for the fact that everyone in the country loves you. But I don’t hate you, I never hated you. I love you. I love you.”

Both of you stood in shocked silence at your words, neither of you moving, neither of you breathing, neither of you blinking. You just stood there, looking at each other. You couldn’t tell how long the two of you had been motionless until Dongmin’s face broke into a soft smile, and he gently removed your hand from his arm and held it in his own.

“I love you, too. I always have. It’s always, always been you.”

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[maliciouslove]

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕡𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤

SFW, characters aged up (21+) 

pairing // Bakugou Katsuki x reader

word count // 1.1k

tags // chaos, descriptions of mental illness, mention of self-harm, depiction of life as a struggle, financial struggle, mention of mental breakdowns, hurt/comfort

AN // I do not listen to Taylor Swift, but the lyrics of Paper Rings inspired this. I just needed comfort.

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night

Life isn’t perfect. It’s an unpredictable tidal wave that can either drown you or take you to some far off shore. It’s a storm that takes you by surprise, a force of nature you cannot control, nor predict. 

Life isn’t always beautiful. It can be ugly, painful; it can leave scars on your soul that still burn, never quite fading. Even the most beautiful rose will hurt you with its thorns. 

And life isn’t a fairy tale story with a happy ending—it’s a never-ending maze of horrors and miracles that you have no idea how to navigate. You wander until your feet bleed, but every once in a while you can stop and admire the flowers that have engulfed the tall walls. 

Life is difficult.

When you don’t come from money, and you’re barely getting by, swamped in work that doesn’t pay but requires a lot, drowning in bills and mental illness that cripples you and holds you hostage in the dark. When your family rejects you, and you have only two friends who (try to) keep you afloat and the orange cat you found by the dumpster behind your workplace during a breakdown. When life is a rollercoaster of unpleasant surprises and punches in the face and you can’t even finish your papers for school because your mind never shuts off, and you’re much, much too tired to deal with it all. 

When you're at your lowest… Life gave you a miracle called Bakugo Katsuki. 

Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright

And he didn’t come from money either. Thrifted clothes and a shitty attitude, misunderstood by the world, pushed aside by everyone because he never bites his tongue. Dark circles under his eyes because he too can’t sleep at night, because the nightmares always, always come back. And he keeps his shaking hands in his pockets, holding his head up high and refusing everyone’s pity. 

He, a stranger at that time, could recognize the telltale signs of you dissociating mid-party, and he took you outside and held you tight when you cried because you were overwhelmed. He gave you his hoodie and walked you home, choosing the streets that were most brightly lit so you wouldn’t be scared of the dark. And when you hide your wrists he chuckles and says If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine and rolls up his sleeves to show off his tattoos covering old scars. Thin familiar lines you can trace with your fingers.

And before you got inside your tiny apartment after thanking him and wishing him goodnight, he lingered a few moments longer, whispering a single It’ll be alright before disappearing. Back then you thought you’d never meet this stranger again, so you clutched his hoodie tight and allowed yourself a happy dream that night.

Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life

One fateful day when the bell of the cafe rang, you looked up to the door, just about to end your shift, and it was the sight of a familiar blonde spiky hair that froze you and made your heart leap. Because when he smiled at you, hands still in his pockets, sauntering over to the register, your mind was for the first time in months absolutely clear. 

And he ordered his coffee to go and waited for you outside, talking to you like it was yesterday when he walked you home late into the night. And just like that, he reentered your life and nestled himself deep into your routine, into your heart, making each day just a little better than the one before. 

When the world was pushing you down, he’d wrap his hands around you and push back with you, never letting you cave and fold under the pressure. He’d be there for you. He’d hold your hand until it stopped shaking, and he’d kiss your tears away until his feather-light touches would tickle you and you would laugh again. 

When he’d get sick you’d take care of him, hot mugs of tea and homemade chicken soup, no peas because he hates them. You’d hold his hand and read him books until his fever comes down with gentle forehead kisses and quiet whispers of I’m not going to get sick, let me take care of you. And when he’s angry you would calm him, soothe his pain with hugs and kisses until he isn’t boiling anymore. You know he wouldn’t burn you, not ever. Like a fire that reduces even the densest of forests to ash, spreading fast and consuming all into his blaze—into his pain and anger—he only stops when he is met with your rain, dousing his flames.  

He planted flowers in pots, hung them on your walls, and promised to remind you to water them. Always made you a meal when you were too worn down to do so yourself. And he was okay sleeping with the lights on at night when the darkness felt like too much for you to handle. He stood up for you and stayed up late at night to cram for exams with you; carried you to bed when you would fall asleep on the little dining table. He’d set ten alarms making sure you woke up on time and made it to the exam hall in one piece. And he’d celebrate after each exam with a cake he made himself. 

Since you met him, your chest didn’t feel as tight. Because the burdens you had to carry you no longer shouldered by yourself. Because you had someone who understood and had your back. 

Because he was the one you wanted and have been waiting for your whole life. 

Oh, you're the one I want

And he was there when you graduated and took a bunch of pictures of you in a pretty navy dress holding your diploma and smiling brighter than the sun. He bragged to all his friends about how far you’ve come and the new job you found and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. 

And the first step was moving in with you. Finding a new place you would call your own and filling it with colors and picture frames that reminded you of how you met. Kiss good morning, kiss goodnight, never ever a kiss goodbye. For better or worse, in health and in sickness—you were poor but rich with love. 

And when the final boxes of his things were empty and his toothbrush was next to yours, his clothes folded in the drawer opposite of yours, his slippers kicked aside while yours were neatly placed by the door… you knew you were where you were supposed to be. With the person who was meant to be with you. The person who understood and accepted your pain and loved you for who you are. Scars, trauma, sleepy smiles and all. Just unconditional love.

You sit by the window that night, marvelling in the knowledge that you live together now, sipping beers straight from the bottles and just looking at the city lights outside. He fiddles with his beer and peels the label off, folding it into a little paper ring, smiling to himself as he sets his beer aside and takes your hand in his. 

Slipping the little paper ring onto your ring finger, he looks like the happiest man alive.

“One day I’ll save up get you a real one and ask you to marry me.” He looks into your eyes, hoping you would like that idea. In his mind your future together is playing like a movie, bright and full of color and laughter, so he’s taken by surprise when you suddenly kiss him and hide your face into the crook of his neck, barely whispering the words: “Dummy… I’d marry you with paper rings.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[xaintsero]

The year is 2024 and I have finally gathered the courage to expose myself so. Here is my Ikemen Prince self insert OC! Disclaimer for lore dumping ahead

My bellesona Candy is similar to Emma in many ways, but instead of having Mr. Akatsuki, Candy has Lady Flavia as her mentor. She is a dancer for Flavia's dance hall and although Candy’s story doesn’t follow a particular route, it is more slice of life with occasional angst (Luke). Nobody is end game as Candy doesn’t end up with any particular suitor (I can’t commit to one character without wanting another one) and the romance is dreadfully slow burn. But her two main interests are Rio and Clavis.

One fateful day, far off into Rhodolite's countryside, Flavia and her coachmen showed up at Candy's family farm in need of assistance regarding their carriage. And although the lady was not too impressed with the farm nor its inhabitants, one particular thing seemed to grab her attention. A 14-year-old girl with a youthful appearance. Recognizing the girl's potential to draw attention, Lady Flavia extends an offer of taking the girl with her, all expenses covered, as long as she works for her. 

Nine years later, Candy is still working for Lady Flavia as a professional dancer. Because of the many years Candy has spent with the Lady and around nobility, she is well trained for her time as belle and plays the role perfectly. Being the ladies favorite performer, she is absolutely spoiled rotten with dresses, jewelry, and accessories, so there is really nothing any of the princes could do to truly impress her. But luckily for Candy, because of her career and reputation, she is able to play off her time in the castle as a preparation for an event held by royalty. This allows Candy to leave Lady Flavia's scrutiny and harsh gaze of being a proper lady for a month and allows her to be as playful and as free as she'd like. 

Although Flavia is a noblewoman, she considers herself first and foremost to be a businesswoman. She is the owner of a dance hall where she recruits beautiful Rhodolitian girls from around the country to perform for nobles in events and parties. Despite Lady Flavia originally being from Benitoite, she brought her business into Rhodolite, seeing as their culture was more modest than that of Benitoite. This gives her the opportunity to monopolize in this business as she is the only one in Rhodolite providing these services. 

Despite practically being raised by the lady, Candy has a complicated relationship with her. From the money she earns in her performances, truly Candy only gets 20% of the earnings. 70% goes to the lady, and the rest goes into Candy's training, room, and board. A majority of the time, Candy's few earnings get sent back home to her family. And yet, she can’t bring herself to resent Lady Flavia, as she has brought her and her family lots of opportunities that she could never even dreamed of. She has grown to love dancing and only hopes the lady appreciates her as much as Candy appreciates the lady.

[nelapanela94]

Can u do one that reader is a Marley warrior and she leaves Levi to go back to Marley with Levi and they meet again when the scouts attack Marley

Hi Anon, I hope I got this right!

TW: Angst, love during war times, canon violence.

WC: 1.6k

Some bonds are unbreakable. They survive everything.

The sea kindles its own symphony, a humming tune pulsing and murmuring with cadence, the waves crawl gently to the shore and their foam sizzles into the sand. Seagulls squawk above him, diving into the water for the last catch of the day, and the palm trees rustle, clawing to the sky.

The sun slowly dips behind the horizon. The horizon, a thin seam that stitches together the canopy of the sky and the flat of the sea into a line of silver. Unreachable, never ending.

The yellowish beam gilds the gamboling clouds, suffusing the sky with a blend of violet and orange streaks.

Somewhere beyond that line...

Who would've thought that there was a world outside those walls.

The breeze tousles his hair, and the briny air sails into his lungs. A drizzle of sand thrashes against his shins, and his shirt is tugged at in some places, stuck to him in others.

Sand and water slip through his toes, silkily; four years swiftly gone like that, through the gaps, taking away the memories, erasing the moments. And there were so many things left unsaid.

Silver burns his skin, and the edges of the gemstone threaten to gash through his palm.

His tongue is pressed against the back of his teeth, containing, as if it would stop his incandescent rage, pain and disappointment rippling through every inch of him.

How much pain is a person suppose to endure? How damn you have to be to lose everyone you care about?

He did not shed a single tear for you in all that time, the pain nestled in his chest, swelling around the thorn he just can't pull out.

But it's time to put an end to his misery.

His shoulders relax. He winds up his arm with all the strength he can muster, and finally let go of the ring. It glints with the last glow of the day, his eyes following the perfect parabola until it plops into the water, the depths slowly engulfing it.

How stupid he was, falling for your lies. You awoke in him feelings that had been dormant for a lifetime, showed him the bliss of dancing under the moonlight. You read all the stories etched on each of his scars. You swept him of the ground and made him believe that this world is not a terrible place to live. He fell on his knees and kissed your feet.

He was going to propose. The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with you. He had practiced the speech before the mirror countless times so that his nerves wouldn't betray him when time would come. Though no matter how much preparation, he knew he'd stammer and quiver all the way through, the velvet bound box jiggling in his clammy hands.

But you were gone before he had the chance to kneel. 

And he finds himself wondering, like he so often does, what you’re doing at this very moment. Buying flowers in the market, eating ice cream, strolling in the park, or if it is raining, maybe curled up in the couch reading a book, making tea, taking a hot bath.

He spent four years trying to scrape you off his head, four years itching to hold your hand again.

If only he could see you again?

He tucks his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes, but the boulder of resentment doesn't crack. Throwing the ring didn’t put an end to the story. To a chapter, maybe, but there are plenty of blank pages to fill.

He sucks in a long breath that squeezes back his tears, swivels around, and pads back to the harbor for the tea.

*

You've been flitting, and tossing around in bed for the past hour, turning the pillow to the cool side, fluffing it and bashing it with a fist. Two bells toll in the distance, and the moon slices your face with a sliver of light. She hangs big and yellow and gibbous.

It's going to be a long day. People from all over the world have been gathering in Liberio for the festival and Tybur's conference. People have worked hard in setting up stalls to impress the foreign visitors, but you just weren’t in the mood for festivals. You long for this day come to an end and get back home to your lonely routine. The white uniform perched on the wall across the room is the eternal reminder of that day and the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Torn between the devotion to your nation and the love of a man. Not just any man, the love of your life. Two souls died the day you took the green cloak off and turn your back to him. You just couldn’t see the marbled eyes of a broken heart. What you did can’t be forgiven, and you must live with that for the rest of your life.

Forward! Forward! For today Marley is ours, and tomorrow the whole world!

Soldiers chant on the street, swinging pewters, stubbing cigarettes on the cobblestone road, bragging about love affairs. Menacing and friendly at the same time, and you wonder how some people would relish in torturing other humans. Shooting an enemy is the most merciful act amidst war, most prisoners are brutally punished, famished and forced to work until their bodies give up, others used for experiments, flayed alive, fed to dogs, turned to titans, your stomach churns and your shake your head to push those harrowing images away. And those guys down there are comrades, some even friends.

But they didn’t see what you did during those five years in the island. You mingling with the demons, that after all are normal people, thriving, anchored to the past maybe, fighting for their freedom.

What is in the blood?

Levi was far from being what you imagined a demon to be.

Behind his aloof and impassive demeanor, hides the most caring, selfless, and protective human being. And you hurt him, the tenderest heart, you crushed it in your palms. But you chose your country, your people, what you thought home was, and when you came back, you realized that home is what you left behind.

When the moon gives way to the sun, you slip off bed, wash your teeth and brew tea. How sad it is to heat the tea pot for one.

You dodge into the kitchen table and wrap your hands around the warm cup, steam still oozing into a spicy swirl. The smell of his room and office comes back to you every morning, and when you take a sip, his lips materialize.

You sprinkle water on your face, take a shower, slip on into your uniform and sling the shotgun on your shoulder. All units have been summoned to Liberio for this evening. A rumor huddles in every corner. The enemy is moving closer and might strike during the festival, we must be prepared.

Where are you now? You sigh, lost in the waves that crash against the ceramic. You bring your fingers to your mouth. A billow of nostalgia.

*

The sky cracks.

Intercoms crackle. Like the hum inside a seashell. You are on your own now. There are not instructions to follow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins, tearing all the will to go on living. The clatter of zeppelins grows louder from the east.

Your heart beats with frenzy as panic zigzags on the streets. You focus now on evacuating townspeople. Prostitutes, spinsters, men over sixty. Non-believers, procrastinators, drunks. The orphans, the poor, the stubborn.

It’s like an avalanche descending on the city and there aren’t mountains nearby. The earsplitting sirens have fall into a deafening shrill. Suddenly everything is inaudible. The roar has become loud enough to break the membranes in the middle ear. You’re dizzy, and the world moves in slow-motion as is you were trapped in a dream, unable to scream, unable to move.

Windowpanes rattle in their housing, and doors soar away from their frames. Bricks burst into powder and clouds of debris spout in the sky. Dirt and dust sail straight into your lungs. Automobiles turn in fireballs, and flames scamper up walls. The fires pool, and the wind strengthens them, making them ripple like tide waves along the streets.

Something explodes above. Roof slates blow into the air, and then it all turns black.  

When your consciousness switches on again, reality spins around. You still can’t hear a sound, ashes make the air unbreathable. But the rotting pain in your crushed arm is the proof that you're still alive.

You tug up the helmet, and the first thing you see is the gun’s muzzle aiming right between your brows, and even if you want to say “shoot me” you can’t. You can’t string words together; you can’t open your mouth.

Tears swell in your eyes, and a wistful smile curves in your lips. The world is falling apart, but yours is rebuilding.

“Levi,” you mutter the name when the edges finally smooth. His pupils have overtaken the gray of his eyes, his face, his beautiful face is rucked up with hatred. Or resentment, pain perhaps?  He tosses the gun away and grabs you by the collar of your uniform. He hauls you; the warmth of his shallow breaths scorches your bleeding cheek.

“Shoot me, please shoot me.” You cough a clog of blood. “May the last thing I see before I die be your face. Just give me that.”

You close your eyes, and wait for him to reach for the gun, aim at you, pull the trigger. But instead, you feel his heart beating against your chest, his strong arms wrapped around you, and for a second you wonder if you’re dead and this is heaven. Even if you don’t deserve it.

He sobs and his tears blend into the cradle of your neck. The second time in your life you see him cry.

“Don’t die.” He blubbers. “Don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Levi.” Through the pain, you wrangle out your words. Every breath is like sandpaper scraping your throat. “I know I don’t deserve it but at least, let me ask for your forgiveness.”

“You’re not dying, Y/N, you’re not dying on me tonight,” he snarls, and holds you tighter.

Neither of you is listening to each other.

“I never wanted to fight Levi, but during war times, we don’t have control over our lives. All those dreams we shared, that’s the life I saw for us. A little house in the country side, and orchard, kids playing around. Perfectly ordinary lives.” Your voice sinks to a feeble whisper. “You gave me those dreams.”

“Shut up!”

He clears his throat and his head cools down to think. He tears a piece of his cloak and ties it around your arm to stop the bleeding. All he wants to do is to hold you in his arms, to hear your laugh, to see the spark in your eyes and your smile. To feel your skin and his fusing.

His heart is pounding while yours struggles to beat.

After all, we can’t erase the past, no matter how much we want to. We are free to make our choices, but we fall prisoners of their consequences.

You’re no longer trapped in rubble, it no longer smells of smoke and gasoline. You breathe on your own, you’re wearing clean clothes. The whiff of bleach is pungent it makes you sneeze, and with a sneeze every inch of your body quivers with pain.

“Hey.” You swallow the lump in your throat and groan.

He peels of the wall, smiling, arms folded on his chest. “Don’t move, you halfwit.”

That’s him.

“Thank you.” You cough. “Why did you do it? Why did you save me?”

“It was my duty.” He drags a chair and sits next to you.

“But I’m the enemy.”

“Cut the nonsense and rest.” He growls, looking out the window, his cheeks singing as if he was talking to his teenage crush.

The hospital should be crammed, understaffed, people weeping and shouting, but you have a room for yourself, and it’s quiet. It just doesn’t make sense. How long have you been asleep?

“Where am I Levi?” You turn to him.

“Home.”

Tag List: @stygianoir @lamees004 @svftackerman @apolloshaiku @luvjiro

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[leahnardo-da-veggie]

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl, part 2

Well, I managed to churn out part 2 of this! Take that, flu >:) Anyways, read part 1 here

I listened to the rest of the class with a single ear, so busy with plotting our next move was I. Mrs Cheng was going to want to take revenge for my little ploy, and that meant I had to keep on my toes. Things were going to get significantly more dangerous.

Dane, fool boy that he was, had taken it upon himself to become the teacher's pet, a deadly thing to do when the teacher in question was Mrs C. All through the day, I cursed him as I watched him present neatly written equations to Mrs Cheng with glee. It was a small mercy that she had no knowledge of our relationship, for my sanity and for his safety, and suspected naught of him.

As the bell rang and we were released, I shot her a mocking bow and strolled out the door. Soon as I was out of sight, I grabbed Dane's elbow and sunk my nails into his soft flesh. “You idiot,” I hissed in his ear.

His wide prey-eyes met my narrowed ones. “What did I do? Training today wasn't that bad, was it?” When my glare did not let up, he batted at my hand. “Kat, let go, please. I don't know why you're so pissed with me, but you're going to draw blood! So unless you want my mom to have some very awkward questions, you have to stop.”

I glanced down at my hand, with its too-long fingers and too-sharp nails. “Tch,” I said. “You nearly got yourself killed with your antics just now. And all the not-terrible training in the world isn't going to be enough when you end up going toe to toe with C.”

“C? You mean Mrs Cheng? Wait…” Realisation dawned on his broad features. “Oh shit. You gotta be kidding me, right? It's her?”

I barked a laugh at that. “Yes, Dane. It's her. Her and about a quarter of the school faculty. So think twice before you draw any more attention to yourself, understand? You're not nearly ready enough to fight one of them.” 

Biting his lip, Dane nodded. “I'm sorry, Kat. I should've thought things through more. Can I get you an ice cream to make it up to you?”

His inanity brought a smile to my face. “Don't apologise to me, silly. I'm not the one who's in danger. But yes, I would love to have an ice cream. Shall we try the gelato place that just opened up?”

He pulled out his wallet and made a show of noting how little there was in it. “You're going to drive me broke, Kat. These cafes are overpriced, you know. The convenience stores work just fine,” he whined.

I tapped him on the nose, and replied, “When you've lived a life like mine, you learn to appreciate the finer things in life, little Dane.” Besides, I thought grimly, I had upset the things running the convenience stores a tad too much to be comfortable eating something from there.

We walked, hand in hand, down the noon-burning street, and I could not help but revel in the heat. Truly, global warming was doing me a favour. Dane did not share my views, sadly. He leaked rivulets of sweat, fanning himself with a piece of paper and he strolled next to me.

It appeared we were not the only ones to crave icy relief, for the cafe was brimming with people munching on artisanal gelatos and sipping iced tea. There was only one person at the counter, a gorgeous woman with hair that fell in auburn waves and overalls that proclaimed her to be an employee. I slipped through the doors and pulled Dane behind me. Without them ever quite noticing, the customers parted around me, and I snuck my way into the front of the queue.

Without turning around, the woman manning the counter chirped, “Hello and welcome to Jelly's Gelatos! How can I help you today?”

I put on my best smile. “Oh, I'd like two scoops of chocolate gelato, please! In a cone. And two scoops of… Matcha, wasn't it? Also in a cone,” I said, winking at Dane as I did so. Matcha was his favourite flavour, and it had always delighted him when I remembered that, so I made the effort to. Indeed, he brightened up when I made his order correctly, and squeezed my hand appreciatively.

Smoothly, the woman scooped out our order. “You two make a cute couple,” she said as she did so. “I didn't know you liked little boys, Katherine.” My uniform had no name tag on it, and neither did anything I carried.

Ah, shit.

I tensed up, sliding into a fighting stance. “How the hell do you know my name?” A protective hand on Dane's shoulder, I leaned in to peer closer at her.

She looked up and tilted her head to the side. Eyes like burnished copper met mine, her pupils just a tad too elongated to be normal. Her hair was down, but I had a suspicion that it hid pointy ears. “Don't you recognise me, Katherine? I'm disappointed,” she purred. 

That voice was familiar, and not in a good way. I'd met her kinden before, men and women too beautiful to be purely mortal, the children of unholy unions. They were never up to any good. “You should be,” I replied, baring my teeth at her. “Don't expect me to remember the name of every random person I come across.”

The insult stung, as it was meant to, and she thrust my order under my nose. I took my chocolate and handed the matcha to Dane, who accepted it cautiously. “You think you're so high and mighty, Katherine? You've made too many enemies, and it's only a matter of time before one of us gets you,” she snarled, her pearly white teeth stark against blood-red gums.

I rolled my eyes in my best approximation of a rebellious teenager. “Sure, like, whatever. I'm so frightened by random minimum wage workers,” I jeered. “C'mon, don't expect me to quiver in my boots at you. You're only scary to the children of helicopter parents who point at you as an example of what happens when you fail your exams.”

“You bitch,” she hissed.

“So close, but no cigar, sweetie,” I replied. “And I don't think that's the proper way to treat your customers, is it? No tips for you.” Picking up a handful of change from my pocket, I dumped it onto the counter. “Toodles!”

On that cheerful note, I pushed my way back out into the sunny sidewalk. Dane followed like a lost puppy, looking increasingly concerned. “What was that about? That woman looked like she was gonna kill you!”

I shrugged. “Get used to it, kiddo. Everyone wants me dead. And when they find out about you? Well, you can bet they won't want sunshine and warm hugs.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I Am Blackened Bones (Part 2)

Sometimes he looks at pictures of her and his heart aches. Most of the time he thinks that it is his fault. And maybe, partly it is. He is her older brother and he can’t say that he was the best at it. Azula, of course, was no delight to him. Once or twice Zuko swears that she had been, in her own way, trying to connect, trying to be kind. But it always felt short. She just…she never felt sincere. And so he never felt compelled to show her any compassion. He can’t imagine that she would show him any were their roles switched. 

And yet he stares at her portrait. At her perfect, impeccable smile. Not a hair out of place, not a crinkle in her clothing. A far cry from the last state that he’d seen her in. Although he must say that she looked at least a little better. Her face had regained its color and her eyes had lost that odd glint. 

“I think that I should try to find her.” Zuko comments one day over dinner. 

“Who?” Aang inquires. 

“My sister.” 

“Did you already try that?” Katara asks.

“It’s a waste of time.” Mai sighs. “She doesn’t want to be found.” 

Zuko shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.” The last that he had heard any news of her at all had been two months ago. A fire in a factory then things had been quiet around Caldera City.

“She’ll turn up eventually, she always does.” Mai mutters.

“Usually at the worst time too.” Sokka adds with a swish of his fork. 

But she doesn’t. Not in the month to come nor the month to follow that one. And then Zuko would get swept up in politics and duties and a vacation or two. He doesn’t know it now, he has absolutely no clue, but it would be another four years before he’d think to look for his sister again. 

While he eats his supper, his sister enjoys her fifth day of fire.

.oOo.

As many things do, it begins as only a vague cause for alarm. A subtle sense that something is not right. The kind that she would readily dismiss if she hadn’t experience to tell her that some of the worst fates have come in the wake of tiny inconveniences. 

Her little itch is a hole. 

This minuscule blank spot in her mind.

It used to be a memory that occupied that space. 

A useless fun fact to be precise. 

She can no longer recall how tall the average komodo rhino grows to be. She remembers that she had a phase as a child. She had a stuffed toy that father had won for her at a sun festival. She remembers the jingling bells tied to the stall. She also remembers the smell of spicy sausage links and the sound of their sizzling. She remembers tugging on father’s sleeve and asking for one. He had gotten her two since it was her birthday. And then she got to ride one of the komodo rhinos—its name was Kenzo. She held her stuffed komodo rhino, nibbling on its horn until father reminded her that doing so was unbecoming, and that big girls didn’t chew or suck on their toys. Lu Ten came home the next day and he had fashioned some armor for her toy. For his efforts and troubles she had prattled on and on about real komodo rhinos. She could list off everything that there was to know about komodo rhinos; their horn length, their average weight, what to feed them, and how to saddle them. She still knows these things. All of them except for how tall they grow to be. 

She sits upon a large rock, lightly beating a fiery fist against a flaming forehead, as though she can knock the memory back into her mind. But no matter how hard she tries she can’t seem to fish it back out of that hole. And so the blank space remains, small but seeming to gape all the same. 

Azula rubs her hands over her face. Not that she can call them hands anymore. They look more like twigs on the end of a branch of a smoldering tree. At first she thought that she was looking at bone…her bones. But no, her arms have a very distinctly woody texture and spines to go with it beneath all of that fire. Her ribcage on the other hand, is very much still bone and it is displayed openly with her flesh burned away from it. In place of guts and throbbing bits, she has a belly full of fire. A belly like a furnace that never stops raging. She doesn’t know what her face looks like, she doesn’t want to. But she imagines that it is no longer pleasant to look at. Perhaps it is hollow and skull like. Perhaps her eye sockets are empty of eyes. But how then, would she see? She knows that she has a tail, it is long and rigid and spiny like her arms. It bares likeness to a hardened lava floe, complete with cracks, glows, and occasional pops of sparks. It warps around her when she is feeling dread—an involuntary motion from an appendage that she hasn’t learned to use. It is wrapped around her now. It has been wrapped around her since her transformation. 

Azula, for all of her intense warmth, shivers and trembles. Not for the first time in her life, she doesn’t know what to do. But for the very first time in her life, she hasn’t even a semblance of a plan. 

Most of the time she finds herself wandering, occasionally stopping to catch the attention of a spirit. But when she begins to ask her question, only fire and smoke spouts from her mouth. Her words are weak, her voice soft and lost beneath the fire’s roar. 

And so the spirits slink or dash away from her, terrified of the power that she hadn’t meant to unleash before them. 

She is no closer to uncovering the how and the why. Possibly the who. Which spirit had done this to her? Or had it been the universe itself? Had she done this to herself? She thinks that she might have—with some help of course. The last of this gaggle of spirits flutter away. 

But she cannot weep for the fire steals her tears before they are shed. The feeling is still there constricting her chest. Azula is terribly sad and this time she doesn’t think that she can salvage anything at all. 

And so she wraps her arms around herself and carries on. 

Lost…

Lonely…

Suffering…

[korokspiesofhyrule]

I wrote a short horror movie idea about a swedish tradition I learned today called the Gävle goat.

Some movie quotes from my friend @hilariousseagoat :

"Your goats will come back to haunt you....every year...."

"Yule Be Sorry"

"Yule Have To Watch Out"

Here's the story I hope you enjoy it and it was a rush writing process so it's not perfect.

Title: Goats of yule tide past

The first goat was financed by Harry Ström. On 1 December 1966, a 13-metre (43 ft) tall, 7-metre (23 ft) long, 3-tonne goat was erected in the square. On New Year's Eve, the goat was burnt down, and the perpetrator was found and convicted of vandalism.

On Dec. 1, 1966, the 43-foot-tall goat was erected in the square. A few minutes into New Year's Day, 1967, the Gävle Goat was on fire. It was the first act of arson in what would become a holiday tradition of violence against the animal. Since the goat is a yule spirit it grew bitter of every year someone tries to burn down the beautiful tradition, and every year the yule goat spirit watches everyone who attempts to burn the statue. The gävle goat indeed takes the bad luck of the year, but it only uses it to kill or harm those who harm it.

An elite team is tracked down and payed individually 50,0000 to burn down the goat, even if the people remake the goat, they're tasked to burn it too. They're hiding in a closed store as a base of operations when they get a stern warning that they will be harmed if they attempt to complete their mission, ignoring the warnings they burn down two of the goats, but the team quickly finds their teammates killed in gruesome ways near the goat statues. Before they die they see a huge black goat dressed in red and bells.

Terrified of getting killed after seeing the goat kill a teammate, the few left (assume a team of 10 people) run and hide while two teammates are about to shoot the goat. In an attempt to stop them the goat kills both as the arrow hits the statue, making the goats anger and power double once again. The three team members left swear off destroying the statues, it's not enough for the yule goat so it kills two. The last remaining member begs the host to let him live and he'll help protect the statue at any cost until he's old and dies, and for a moment the goat thinks about that. But seeing as the entire team and him were having a great time and joking around when they were burning the previous statues down he finds a easy solution.

"I'll let you live" the goat spoke calmly. Tears in his eyes clinging on the red robes the yule goat wore the last remaining arsonist on his team, Quinn, bowed on the cloth "thank you, thank you so much! I'll protect the gävle goat with my life!". The yule goat nodded it's head "yes you will, as the gävle goat statue." Panicking Quinn looked up fearfully"you- you mean making sure it doesn't burn down". The yule goat squinted it as before ripping out Quinn's heart in the blink of an eye. Eyes huge and pleading with mercy to find none, blood trailing out of the hole his heart once was, and choking on his own blood as the yule goat stared down at him struggling to breathe. The yule goat didn't budge, not once. Not as he fell over freezing and dying in a puddle of his own blood, reaching a hand out but the yule goat spoke an ancient language over his heart. Plumes of red, gold and orange smoke appeared at the ends of his robe swirling around to the hooves around Quinn's heart.

Quinn's body disappeared completely leaving a puddle of blood in its place and the snowy outline of his body and the hooves of a goat a foot before it. Police found 9 massacred dead bodies in a closed store three blocks from the annual gävle goat statues. There seemed to be no evidence of how the 9 arsonists died or what could have killed them, the tenth arsonist was identified by his blood but never found. The missing body of Quinn Alexander bank was never found but police refuse to share the leads they have on the case. One civilian watching the massacre happen says it was the mythical yule goat, with the video evidence to back up the claim. Police paid the person to never speak of the incident to anyone.

The gävle goat Is attempted to be burnt down every year, and those that are nearby claim they hear screaming coming from the gävle goat, this claim was checked out but nothing was found.

[ltwharfy]

"Bob's Burgers" Season 2 Episode Ranking Rewatch (Long Post)

So, I've been rewatching "Bob's Burgers" from the beginning and ranking the episodes using the spreadsheet that @babsvibes created! If you want to know why I'm doing this or how I view the 1-5 rating scale, you can check out my Season 1 post!

Now, on to Season 2:

Average (mean): 4.22

Mode (most common ranking) : 5

I hid the director and writer name categories when I took the picture to make it easier to focus on episode ratings. I will share my director and writer rankings when I reach the end of this project.

Season as a whole thoughts:

I really enjoy Season 2! I know everyone's got their own take on when "Bob's Burgers" really hit its stride, and many folks say Season 3 or later, but I'm going to say that for me, it had already hit that stride in Season 2. It was consistently funny, and I was surprised by how many lines from it were just burned in my memory- some without me even recognizing the source. (For example, before starting this project, the line: "You know what's free? Loading. Freeloading!" popped in my head. I did not know where it was from- not even what show. It's Louise in "Burgerboss".) "Mommy doesn't get drunk, she just has fun." "Don't feed a guy a sponge, Bobby." I could go on...

Seeing all the familiar faces who started showing up also really made it begin to feel like classic "Bob's Burgers" to me: we've got Zeke! Darryl! Sgt. Bosco! Mickey! Tammy! Honestly, I always think there is something fun in watching all the pieces of something begin to fall into place to create something wonderful, and Season 2 gave me a lot of that feeling.

In my season 1 review, I noted that if "Bob's Burgers" had been cancelled after that season, I would've been annoyed because I thought it showed promise but I wouldn't've viewed it as a tragedy (Season 1 of "Bob's Burgers" is no "Firefly"). But, Season 2 was really the beginning of the time period when I would've been outraged had it been cancelled. (Thankfully, it avoided being a two season wonder like "Joan of Arcadia" or "Saved by the Bell (2020 Revival)")

That said, the show was still figuring out some of the characters (especially Bob) and the overall family dynamic and show tone, which lead to the few episodes I didn't enjoy that much, including the only 2 I've issued so far.

Some thoughts on particular episodes:

"The Belchies": I remember watching this episode when it first aired and feeling like the show had clearly leveled up- it felt like it was beginning to realize the potential I saw in the first season. For some reason, I specifically remember watching the end credits- with Cyndi Lauper singing "Taffy Butt" and JJ dancing- and knowing that the show was capable of being more than it had been in season 1. Also, this episode is really the first example of one of my favorite "Bob's Burgers" episode types which is "the Belcher kids and their friends have an adventure!" And one of the great things about Season 2 is that the kids gain a number of friends- Hi Zeke!

"Bob Day Afternoon"- After this rewatch thing is over, I may try to do a top 20 or 25 list and this episode may be on that. I love it! In particular, the scene where the kids cling on to Bob as he is trying to take the burgers to Mickey and the hostages is one of the best of the series in terms of improv and the humor of talking over each other. And if I ever don't laugh at the part of Gene's Robot College fantasy where he walks in on his robo-roommate performing "routine maintenance" it's a sign that I am dead.

"Burgerboss"- This was a really pleasant surprise! While I knew those first two were two of my favorites, I just thought this one was kind of good- but on actually rewatching it, I found myself laughing the whole way through, so it gets a 5.

"Dr. Yap"- I generally enjoy Yap the character, as well as Gayle, but the two things I really love about this episode are the Gene and Louise jawbreaker subplot (it's fun watching those two get into a ridiculous competition over something stupid) and the Prince of Persuasia. The Prince is such a great parody of that horrible "pickup artist" style, and I find literally all his lines hilarious ("Never make her pancakes. Force her to make you pancakes- in the middle of the night.")

"Bad Tina"- Another episode that might make a top 25 list. Both storylines- the introduction of Tammy and Bob's obsession with "Cake"- are A+. They had already established a number of Tina's core traits throughout the first two seasons, but now with the addition of friend fiction and Tammy, her best of frenemies, it feels like they've fully got Tina down and we get the first great Tina episode (and Tina episodes tend to my favorites, even if Louise is my favorite character).

Okay, now the episodes I didn't like that much:

"Moody Foodie"- Why did I give this my first (and so far only) 2? Honestly, I thought it was overdone and dry.

Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I actually enjoy the first half of the episode. Bob's nightmare about working in an office is hilarious to me as an actual office drone. The scene where he and Louise just start yelling "overdone and dry" at passersby is great. And the farmer's market scene at the beginning has some great family banter.

And then it goes completely off the rails in the second half. The second half of the episode is "Bob Belcher and his friends and family hold a couple of dudes prisoner" which sounds more like a WTF fanfic summary than an actual episode of the show. And it's likely that this episode bothers me more now than it did when it first aired. I think they were still figuring Bob's character out and if they had ended up making him more Homer Simpson-like (prone to anger and hare-brained schemes) maybe this episode wouldn't stick out so much. Similarly, I think that all animated shows struggle a bit with figuring out how grounded in reality they are going to be. if BB had evolved into a less grounded show, this episode also might not stick out.

But it does stick out, for me at least. I just found the second half of this episode more weird and disturbing than funny (although it still had some good lines- I enjoyed Tina translating "Wet Willie" into Spanish for Pepe). If the hostage taking was a shorter part of the episode, maybe I would give it a mixed-review 3, but it is basically the main plot, and I'd rather not rewatch it.

"Beefsquatch": I don't love the physical confrontation between Bob and Gene at the end, but what stops this episode from being a 2 is that really the worst part of it (in my opinion) is actually a pretty small part of the episode. And both of them realize they were acting nuts, and their motivations seem kind-of in character to me (Bob wanted the cooking segment to be a chance to promote the restaurant, Gene wanted his performance as Beefsquatch to be the center of attention). And I just enjoy some other bits in this. "More Scotch!". Louise first enjoying than getting burnt out by her involvement in Gene and Bob's prank war. And Gene's flashback to accidentally gluing his wiener to his remote control helicopter- followed by Louise's "accidentally on purpose!" and them high-fiving. (The high-five cracks me up so much! It's such a silly thing to high-five over!)

Random thoughts (stuff that doesn't affect the ratings):

-It was fun to see the introduction of the exterminator van being different each episode after seeing "Rat's All Folks!" for all of season 1.

-Peter Pescadero is back- and he has his correct face after that weirdness in "Spaghetti Western and Meatballs"! Has anybody written a fic about why his face changed? Like "Face/Off" but with Peter Pescadero (just one idea)?

-Generally, I try not to nitpick about continuity on the show that much. I think they do a really good job, especially by standards of animated comedies (but honestly, really all comedies). But it does bug me that there is a whole episode in a later season about how Louise can only poop in her home toilet when in "Synchronized Swimming" she poops in public pool. She named it Jezebel for crying out loud! It's Bob and Linda's grand-doody! JEZEBEL CANNOT BE FORGOTTEN!

Well, clearly I've been writing for too long and have gone crazy. See you when I'm done with Season 3, whoever may be reading these!

[fizziefactory]

Profile: ♤ Undertaker Fizzy

Model: Undertaker Fizzy

Nicknames: “Undertaker!Fizzy”, “Undertaker”, "Mortis", “Mort”

Pronouns: he/him | it/its | they/them

Height: 6’3”

Can always be found at: A small shed in the Wrath Ring, atop many, many graves.

Works for: Mammon and Satan got a deal, Mortis Cleans up the Wrath Ring, and Mammon takes the cash

Vibes: Weight of the world - Shayfer James || Zeit - Rammstein || Hellfire - Barns Courtney || Daydream in blue - I Monster

Features

Referring to the “hat” as horns, the right one is all black, while the left is white with rib-like stripes on the underside. The horns appear droopy

Instead of the usual jingle bells at the end of the horns, there are two grave bells hanging at the end instead

He has a little black top hat with a green ribbon sitting in between the two horns, he switches it up sometimes though

His “beak” if you will, is black instead of red

He wears all black trousers, coat and vest, a white button up with a standing collar, and a black ribbon tie around his neck. Clothes, once again, often changes.

He frequently wears shoes over his feet to avoid wear and tear

He's quite a bit taller and stronger than the average fizzy, this to handle the heavy workload that comes with handling dead weight all day.

Functions

Its main function is to handle and bury the remains of hellborne that have passed away, a job not many in hell consider necessary. 

This includes performing autopsies, mortician duties such as burial preparation, and of course, gravedigging. You want a fancy grave he'll arrange that for you, and you want a mass grave, he'll fix that too.

While it's mainly working in Wrath, the place where many casualties happen to take place, it can be rented out to other rings as well.

He currently has a contract with Carmilla Carmine, where he cleans up the dead after each extermination, while also collecting all the weapons from the dead. This information is not shared with Mammon. He ain't no snitch.

He may also performs funerals, holding them in Satan's name.

Connections

Satan: Working in the Wrath Ring under Mammon, this fizzy will often take orders directly from Satan.

Asmodeus: He designed him.

Mammon: He works for him and he is considered his “boss”, but he isn't all that faithful to this arrangement. He can do work for anybody really, not like Mammon questions where the money comes from. 

Manager!Fizzy: He was made the same day this fizzy was made, and he's the only other fizzy that can talk to this guy on equal footing. That being said, they aren't particularly involved with one another.

Therapist!Fizzy: Knows him through his psych-evaluations. They will nod at each other from across the room, that's the extent of their relationship

Mind

Mortis is one of the older fizzies, and has been very isolated from the general “fizzy-culture” all the others have been exposed to. He dunno much about that there Fizzarolli feller, he's designed after him, sure… but the only thing he sees all day is the wrathian desert, or the mangled corpses of the dead. He doesn't relate much to the others, which in a sense, is a very lonely feeling.

But eh.

He's just happy sitting in his rocket chair after a long day of hard work, smoking his gas-filled electric cigarette while the charging cable is doing its work in the back. He ain't about to clown around for some rando on the street… he's a busy man.

That's not to say it can't get depressing...

Hellborne teenagers letting the thrill of living in hell get to them, sending their cars crashing and burning. Sinners who thought they'd live on forever, only for an angel to snuff them out with one jab of their spear... Seeing mothers ripped away from their own children, clutching on to the little bodies as they scream into the night...

Your own immortality must feel like such a slap in their faces.. so the least you can do is to treat those moments with the respect they deserve.